Unlucky Thirteen
by Verras
Summary: Set in the immediate aftermath of the Kyuubi's rampage, follow a newly formed team of genins as they arise from the rubble of Konoha and mature in the shadow of the catastrophic events that began the Naruto saga.
1. Choices

Unlucky Thirteen: Choices

By: Christopher J. Velez

Dates: 10/1/2006

**Legal Disclaimer: **_Naruto _is the property of Masashi Kishimoto and all rights to the publication and broadcast of it belong to the myriad domestic and international firms who have purchased said rights. Eijirou Kasabayashi, Hanaryuu Hyuuga, Fumio Uchiha, and Chijiro Katsuhito are creations of the author. This work's intent is solely to bring merriment to both writer and reader, through the exploration of the world created the Masashi Kishimoto.

"Well, this place certainly _has_ seen better days, hasn't it?"

That particular statement, Eijirou Kasayabashi thought, was one of the more massive understatements that he had made in his fifty-nine years on this mortal coil: Which was quite the feat in-and-of itself, as for longer than he cared to remember he had been in the service of the myriad court nobles and their assorted entourages in the imperial capitol. The office of the Hokage was a disaster area, with the contents of cabinets and flecks of debris strewn hither and yon about its circular floor. And yet, in spite of the cracked walls, flaking ceiling, and the assorted chaos of his surroundings, the Third Hokage was still attempting to maintain as many of the trappings of normalcy as he could.

_Sarutobi always _was_ damn impatient, _Eijirou snickered to himself, fighting with all of his might not to allow any of it to show. Never letting one's true feelings be seen was one of the core tenets of ninja infiltration and a lesson quickly learned at the court of the Fire Lord. Even so, it was difficult not to be avuncular with an old friend, especially one as old as Sarutobi.

"No worse than when you were last in here," Sarutobi chuckled, seated behind his desk. "I'd offer you a seat, but I seem to be lacking any free…seats, or anything approaching them, at the moment," Sarutobi chuckled once more.

"So eager to get back in the saddle you can't even be bothered to find your old friend a place to sit down? For shame, old man, for shame," Eijirou chided him, stroking his index fingers together in a gesture of disgust.

"I seem to recall that you're older than I am, Eijirou," Sarutobi's voice was tinged with the sardonic as he stroked his goatee for a moment, before turning his hardening gaze upon Eijirou. "Though I thought you'd have learned by now not to play with the sleeping tiger's tail."

"Details, details! It's just by a few weeks. A mere technicality, I say!" Eijirou was exuberant and boisterous. "And please, Sarutobi, not _another _lecture on limits and boundaries. I've had more than enough lectures from you on the subject to last me a lifetime." Eijirou paused a moment for effect before continuing. "Actually, best make that several. Gods only know you'll be haranguing me in the next life, too."

"Not that you haven't earned each and every one of them, either, Eijirou," Sarutobi attempted to maintain a stern gaze, but ended up with a small smile creasing his face as nostalgia of decades past seeped to the surface; they had known each other since their days as genins and had had a variant of this particular half-discussion/half-argument more times than he could recollect, let alone count.

"Come on Sarutobi, throw me a bone here," Eijirou hung his head in exaggerated despair, "you send a summons for me, saying to make my way back to Konoha with all due haste, without providing any stipulation about transportation, might I add, and then when I finally get here, you don't even have a place for me to rest my weary bones?" Eijirou massaged the small of his back for added emphasis. "I'm not a young man anymore, Sarutobi."

"You were young enough to be a pain in my ass fifteen seconds ago," Sarutobi snorted, "and furthermore—" Sarutobi's sentence was aborted by two quick raps on the large oaken doors to the office, followed by their opening. In stepped an auburn-haired girl no taller than five feet, arms overflowing with file-folders.

"Hokage-_sama_, I brought you those damage…reports…" her voice trailed off, as she realized she had barged in on the Hokage. As the realization sank in, her face went beet red and she hastily bowed to show her deference and, in the process, sent the contents of the folders she was carrying tumbling earthward. "I-I'm sorry, Hokage-_sama­_! I h-had no idea you were in a meeting. P-please forgive my intrusion…"

"Oh, no need to be flustered on my account," Eijirou smiled, "this constitutes a wonderful change of pace from the old man's rantings."

Sarutobi glared at Eijirou for a moment before softening and returning his gaze to the girl. "Please, Ayame, do try to relax. You're not interrupting anything…too pressing," he shot a quick look of distaste at Eijirou before continuing, "so, please, compose yourself and continue."

"O-of course, Hokage-_sama_," Ayame stammered, still trying to regain her mental footing, "I have organized those damage reports that you asked for. Since your schedule was clear I thought I would bring them to you now…but since you are busy…"

Eijirou bent down and began to collect the contents of the folders Ayame had dropped. "_Had _organized, methinks. The past tense being the operative…tense?" He aborted a wistful laugh as he finished his collection and presented it to Ayame. "Guess it doesn't work so well when scaled up from 'word' to, well, anything else." Ayame only found herself further confused by the eccentricity of the Hokage's visitor, but nodded thankfully as Eijirou laid the repackaged files on top of the stack she had in her arms.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Eijirou smiled warmly, to which Ayame hesitantly nodded. "No need to look like I'm going to bite your head off," he scoffed, "I'm not terribly hungry at the moment."

"I believe she's more worried about _me _doing that," Sarutobi's tone and gaze grew stern once more, as he fixated on Eijirou again. "And you're not helping."

"You? Bite off someone's head?" Eijirou burst out laughing. He turned to Ayame as he caught his breath between laughs. "No need to worry about the Old Man," he said as he slid his left arm around an increasingly bewildered Ayame while gesturing towards the Hokage with his right thumb. "The Old Lady had him defanged decades ago. Declawed and despined, too, come to think of it."

Ayame's bewilderment deepened for a moment, before realization dawned upon her. It was _obvious _whom this humorous, but nonetheless strange, man was and what he was doing on here: It had just taken her a little longer than necessary to deduce just who, precisely, he was. "I'm sorry I interrupted this jester's performance, Hokage-_sama_," she said, after Eijirou had released her, "had I known you were being entertained, I would not have intruded."

Eijirou's jaw hung slackly in shock for a moment. He had been called a great many things over the years, but he had never been mistaken for a traveling comedian. And that included more than a few missions using that persona as a guise. "J-_jester!_" he sputtered, still flabbergasted. "Do I _look _like a jester to you?"

"Yes," both Ayame and the Hokage responded in unison, the latter doing so through fits of raucous laughter. Eijirou, admittedly, was not the most fashionable person in the world: Indeed, he was probably the least fashion-conscious person in the room. He was unkempt and mottled, or at least as much as a balding man in his fifties could be, and his tattered and fraying traveling clothes were not exemplars of the style and sophistication. _Fine, I _do _probably look like a clown_, he seethed inwardly, _still doesn't mean they have to call me on it._

"If I were a clown, why do I have _this_?" Eijirou replied, gesturing towards the crest of Konoha that he wore upon his forehead, "or, for that matter, how'd I get it?" Such headbands and forehead protectors were only awarded to the ninjas of Konoha, after all, and possession of one was usually reason enough to assume that the possessor was a legitimate member of the community. _Or it means I'm really a hostile ANBU here to axe Sarutobi, which would be pretty funny, too, _he sniggered with just a dash too much morbidity for his own liking.

"Well, obviously, you're a satirist," Ayame stated matter-of-factly, "and since the end of the War, the crests of Konoha have been widely available, due to the number recovered from the captured and the dead during the War and the numerous counterfeiting operations sprung up during the conflict."

"Well, since you _obviously _have everything figured out," Eijirou's agitation with Ayame mounted with each word he spoke. "Why would the Hokage allow me, a layman no knowledge of this village, its customs, history, or traditions, to mock the village while wearing the crest of Konoha? In his presence, no less?"

"Well, that is why you _must _be a satirist," Ayame said, gently slapping the back of her left hand into her right palm for emphasis, "you are obviously parodying a ninja from Konoha for the Hokage's enjoyment, in such a way that neither demeans nor degrades the village or those who wear its crest."

Eijirou ground his teeth in frustration. He did not like being bested by someone who, for a fair number of years, would not be allowed to touch alcohol. It was rather embarrassing, a fact that was not lost on Sarutobi, who was wearing one of the biggest and dumbest smiles Eijirou had seen on the Hokage's face in a great long while.

"I do believe she has figured us out," Sarutobi conceded, rocking forward and standing, while giving Ayame a gentle round of applause as he did so. "I am sorry for deceiving you, Ayame."

"There is no need to apologize, Hokage-_sama_," Ayame shook her head in the negative. "I would not dare question your taste in entertainment and wholly understand the desire to keep a meeting with such an…interesting entertainer secret."

"I am glad you understand," Sarutobi smiled, "so you won't be here for another hour then, will you Ayame?"

"Wha…--" Ayame stared dumbfounded at the Hokage for a few seconds before realization dawned upon her. "Of course, Hokage-_sama_!" With newfound enthusiasm, she curtly bowed and turned towards the door. "Er, would be. Were I here. Which I am not. Erm, um, I mean never was," she guffawed with mounting embarrassment as she reached the door. Bowing a second, quicker bow, she opened the large oaken doors and exited the Hokage's office before she put anymore of her foot into her mouth.

As the large doors creaked shut, Eijirou stared at the retreating Ayame, head hanging askance. "…a _jester_?" he whistled quietly to himself. "And _you_," his voice grew in tenor and volume as he turned on his heel to face Sarutobi and leveled an accusatory finger at him, "_you _shooed her out of here thinking that I was this afternoon's comic relief!"

"Struck me as the best way to diffuse a potentially dangerous situation," Sarutobi said in his Hokage Voice, as Eijirou thought of it, a stately and authoritarian tone which the Third used exclusively for the discussion of matters of state.

"'Dangerous'?" Eijirou scoffed incredulously, "she's a genin who's doing clerical work. Between you, me, and the ANBUs in this place, she's about as dangerous as a week-old kitten."

"You said that about those cougar cubs we found on Mount Takaguchi right after we made chuunin, too," Sarutobi retorted ruefully.

"Hey, low blow, low blow!" Eijirou gestured with his arms for the Hokage to desist. "Firstly, those _were _a week-old," Eijirou said flatly, "and secondly, for the record, I was right about the cubs. It's because of the fact that _puma concolor Takaguchi _live in extended family groups that things got hair-raising."

"I suppose you're right," the Hokage chuckled softly, "though speaking of misadventures of the chuunin sort, Ayame's had a few of her own."

"What?"

"My assistant, the one who's 'as dangerous as a kitten', as you say," the Hokage grinned bemusedly at his own quoting of Eijirou, "is a chuunin."

"You're _joking_," Eijirou laughed with skeptical hesitation. "She can't be any older than we were when we went on our first infiltration mission."

"Our first _official _infiltration mission or our first infiltration mission period?"

Eijirou grinned as memories percolated to the surface. "Either," he paused for a moment to savor the nostalgia, "though we might've been a bit young ourselves when we first started infiltration training." _'Infiltration training' being the kindest euphemism for spying on female bathhouses I've heard in a long while_, Eijirou thought to himself as his grin broadened.

"As fun as this trip down Memory Lane has been," Sarutobi said, bearing a grin almost as large as Eijirou's, "the fact of the matter remains that Ayame Kitsurugi _is_ a chuunin." Eijirou, for a moment, still didn't know if Sarutobi was being serious or not. Elevation to the rank of chuunin, for as long as he could remember, had been as much a rite of passage as a recognition of individual skill. One of the great glues that held Konoha together was the communal experience of geninhood during one's teen years and, when the time was right, the trials of the chuunin exams. The chuunin exams were, then, as much as a demarcation of minority and majority within the community as they were of skill and technique. In the past, only those who had demonstrated incredible growth in both technique _and_ maturity had ever been elevated to the rank of chuunin before their eighteenth birthday. That she was doing clerical work was indicative to Eijirou that she was probably _not _such an extraordinary case.

"Old man, just _how _did that _child _make chuunin?" Eijirou attempted to sound authoritative, but was frustrated by a slight stutter induced from his own reservations about chastising a girl who seemed to have done nothing wrong.

"A fair question, old friend," Sarutobi cast his gaze towards the floor in hopes of gathering his thoughts, "one that I'm not entirely sure I can adequately answer."

"I find that hard to believe," Eijirou snorted, "you've always run a tight ship, Sarutobi, and you've never been one to mince words. Just _what_ happened?"

Sarutobi turned his now solemn gaze out the fractured window behind him while taking a long drag on his pipe. "Eijirou, do you know why you were not penned into my schedule?"

"To have a few moments of nostalgia with an old friend?" Eijirou shrugged, nonplussed by Sarutobi's change-of-subject. That trick was harder than it sounded: Sarutobi rarely switched topics as rapidly as he just had. "But what, precisely, does that have to do with anything?"

Sarutobi exhaled heavily. "It has everything to do with the matter of hand, because your question and mine stem from the same wellspring," Sarutobi said, wheeling himself around to face Eijirou once more. "Ayame is a chuunin _because _of the Kyuubi."

"Isn't that a bit of a stretch, old man?" Eijirou scoffed, cocking a skeptical eyebrow. "I mean, it's not like the Kyuubi went on his merry rampage and, between wanton acts of destruction, bequeathed chuuninhood on several choice genins out of the goodness of his demonic heart."

"T'were it that simple, Eijirou, my life would be much simpler as well," Sarutobi sighed heavily, leaning forward and hunching his shoulders. "It was the decision of the council of elders that Ayame be promoted."

That Eijirou could believe. For all of the doubts he had about Ayame's ability to pass the chuunin exams, he had all the faith in the world that Konoha's elders would sanction the promotion of someone who was not ready for chuuninhood. "Oh, so this is Homura and Koharu's doing?" Eijirou jeered, voice laden with self-vindication. "Or was it Danzo? Gods only know _why_ you keep him around," he said, rolling his eyes for added emphasis on the word "why".

Sarutobi's features grew taut, with newfound fire in his eyes. "How I run _my _administration is _my _prerogative. The same applies to the council." Sarutobi glowered at Eijirou with an unnerving and similarly newfound intensity. Eijirou winced inside. He'd gone and stepped on the Hokage's pride and, if Sarutobi was nothing else, he was a proud old goat. He'd have to tread carefully lest he risk the wrath of the Hokage.

"Wouldn't _dare _question it, either," Eijirou shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. He winced inside once more. He'd let a little too much emotion seep into his voice and, judging from the look in Sarutobi's eyes, the Hokage knew it as well. "Not like you've ever liked or, hell, even been receptive to my advice. I'd be talking to the Fourth right now if you were," Eijirou said, throwing the proverbial gauntlet down. Having lost the ability to hedge his bets, there was no real point in continuing to play games of rhetoric. He made no attempt to hide his bitterness: He and the elders had had a long and turbulent history, of which they were both well aware. Under such circumstances, paying deference to it was, Eijirou thought, a waste of both their time.

The Hokage's features flashed with anger. Eijirou braced for the worst. He'd gotten the Hokage angry more than a few times in the past and could attest to the depth of both Sarutobi's vocabulary and lung capacity. He opened his mouth forceful, ready to begin berating Eijirou, but in an instant, slumped into his chair with a weariness Eijirou had never seen before in the Hokage.

For a few moments, the two men sat and stared each other, as an awkward silence descended upon the Hokage's office. "Sorry," Eijirou said at last, breaking the silence. "Old wounds have a tendency to fester when not treated," he said, gently poking himself in the ribs and wincing in faux pain. He was being metaphorical: His wounds were emotional, not physical.

"That they do," Sarutobi said, cautiously laughing at Eijirou's physical demonstration, "but, perhaps, the council has not been as willing to help bind your wounds as it should have been," Sarutobi lamented, "or have I, for that matter." Regret and sorrow were heavy on the Hokage's breath as he mentioned himself. At that moment, Eijirou realized he had not been the only one scarred by the events of the final days of the Third Great Ninja War.

"Don't be so hard on your self," Eijirou said, in an attempt to blunt the conversation's turn towards the fever swamps of self-pity and regret. "You and the council were doing what you thought was best for Konoha and the whole the Fire Country. It took me a _hell _of a long time to acknowledge that fact, Sarutobi, but if I can, you sure as hell can, too."

"And it took me even longer to realize that you were right, too," the Hokage said, hanging his head in despair. Eijirou felt pangs of guilt and regret for Sarutobi. The past five years, since the Fourth had taken over after the Treaty of Kyoushuun and the end of the War, had changed Sarutobi in ways Eijirou hadn't been around to see. The old Third that he remembered would have never admitted he had been wrong with such ease. Indeed, half of the fun, at least for Eijirou, in arguments with the Third was cracking a few proverbial skulls to get his point across.

"After the Fourth came to power, for the first time in a long while I had a chance to really sit and _think_ about what I was doing, and what I had done," Sarutobi said, shaking his head regretfully. "And I started to realize that maybe, just _maybe_, there _are_ limits to the price to be paid for material advantage over our foes."

"I never quite said _that_," Eijirou interjected, "what I said was just that the Kyuubi was a bridge too far in the arms race."

"That _is _what you said, Eijirou, in spirit, if not in letter" the Hokage replied, extricating himself from the fever swamps with a weary smile. "It was about a year after the Fourth took power, I think, I realized you were right about the Kyuubi. Not just about the summoning program in general, but about what it would do to those around it," Sarutobi said, closing his eyes with a frown. "It took on a life of its own. The Fourth kept the program funded after coming to power because of the amount of time and effort put into it during the War. After that, with each step closer to actually summoning it, it became an ever greater necessity: The other hidden villages, the council told itself, were working on similar programs or, even worse, already had the capability of summoning tailed-demons. In an era without lucrative wartime contracts and seemingly ever shrinking budgets, every advantage that could be found had to be exploited. To fall behind was to doom the village and the nation."

"Until we got here," Eijirou added poignantly, gesturing out the windows behind Sarutobi. While the battle against the Kyuubi itself had been fought miles from Konoha proper, the village still bore the scars of the fight. The seismic activity from the tails of the Kyuubi had been felt in Konoha, causing more than a few buildings to collapse: It wasn't long afterwards that the fires had started. Debris from the battle had also been thrown in the direction the village. Eijirou had seen more than a few uprooted trees on the final leg of the journey home and, judging from the bleached red stains on the walls, he suspected at least part of the devastation done to the Hokage's office had been from thrown limbs and bodies. "Though the council certainly weren't the only people enticed by the idea of using a being as powerful as the Kyuubi as a weapon. At times I had to wade knee-deep through Fire Lord Hatagaki's drool once he started dreaming of settling the outstanding scores of the War."

"Until we got here," Sarutobi affirmed solemnly. "During the war, do you remember the report that the council received that Kiri had succeeded in binding a tailed-demon to a child?"

"Yeah, I do," Eijirou nodded slowly, "we thought it was a shortcut, that sealing it within a human would allow for at least the partial utilization of its power in lieu of a _bona fide _summoning."

"Indeed, so we thought," Sarutobi nodded as well, "but, unfortunately, we were incorrect. Sealing the demon within a human wasn't an alternative means of summoning its power: It is the only way." At seeing Eijirou cock an eyebrow, Sarutobi continued. "The Kyuubi, and all the other tailed-demons, are too strong to be controlled by conventional summoning techniques. That's why you need a human container to seal the demon in, as only through a sealing can its power hope to be managed."

"And, judging from things," Eijirou gestured expansively to the cityscape behind Sarutobi, "we found this out too late."

"The Fourth was the one who figured it out," Sarutobi responded with another melancholy sigh. "He was also the one who bore the brunt of my failures."

"You're still being too hard on yourself again, old man," Eijirou replied with a fair amount of levity, "the Fourth knew the risks when he went out to confront that _thing_."

"No, Eijirou, I don't think you understand," Sarutobi sighed once more, this time heavier still. "While it is true that the Fourth is dead, _how _he died has not yet been publicly acknowledged. The council feels it is better for the people to _think _the Fourth died in battle than for them to know the truth."

"Well, we're par for the course so far," Eijirou mumbled indignantly, before steadying him tone and purging the flippancy from his voice. "If he didn't die leading the charge, just how _did_ he die?"

"Eijirou, what do you know of the battle against the Kyuubi?" _Uh-oh_, Eijirou thought to himself. The last time the Hokage had responded to one of his questions with a change of topic, he'd gotten to see the Third wax nostalgic and repentant. He feared what may well come from another such change of direction.

"Not as much I'd _like_," Eijirou shrugged sardonically. "Hatagaki buttoned up his cabinet sessions shortly after it became known the Kyuubi was loose. And given that I'm not an actual member of the cabinet, my attendance privileges were revoked quite quickly. Still know more than most, though," he said, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. "It showed up somewhere south of Kyoushuun originally, proceeded to move and ransack that city, then pivot eastward towards Hikyou. The garrison of Hikyou and the Army of the Central Plains marched out to engage it and were, in turn, routed, after which the beast proceeded on to the capitol and laid waste to it. After that, it turned southwards and just a few miles north of here we stopped it."

"We?" the Third quizzically replied, "I was sitting in the Tower's bunker when it happened. And suspect you were huddling in a basement in Hikyou when it was happening, as well."

"I'd've _gladly _been out there if the Fourth had let me be," Eijirou huffed. The Hokage's face curled up into a look of sour puzzlement. "What? You look like you just swallowed a lemon."

"It's…nothing."

"The last time you told me it was 'nothing' _I _was the one who had to explain to Tsunade what had happened to her underwear," Eijirou said wiggling his jaw. "And I _still_ haven't regained my full range of motion yet, either."

"Well, you _did _take one for the team," the Third smiled at the memory of Eijirou with his jaw wired shut and the blissful silence that had accompanied it. "And I am…puzzled with the Fourth's actions. I had inquired with him if any kind of coordinated action with the Fire Country's standing forces against the Kyuubi were being planned. He told me he hadn't heard word from you and assumed Konoha would have to act on its own."

"Now that _is _puzzling," Eijirou replied, genuinely surprised, "as I sent off a cable to the village the moment I heard about the Kyuubi. Got the Fourth's response to hold fast and _not _talk to Hatagaki or his government within a day."

That caused the Third for furrow his brow even more. "That is most perplexing," he said, slowly stroking his goatee, "though I believe I do know the Fourth's rationale."

"Do tell."

"When the Kyuubi was summoned and broke free of our seals, the Fourth put the various pieces together about what needed to be done to stop it, as I've already said," Sarutobi said, his voice sagging once more under an increasing amount of sorrow, "but even for all of his genius, he had no idea where to begin in sealing a being as powerful as the Kyuubi. Time was required to figure that out."

"Sarutobi," Eijirou whispered, voice stunned and uneven from the implications of what the Third had just said, "are you saying the Fourth intentionally sacrificed Kyoushuun and Hikyou in order to _buy time_?"

"He never explicitly said anything," the Third shrugged, "but he told you to hold fast and let Hatagaki act on his own. He told me he hadn't heard from you with regards to organizing with Hatagaki's forces. He told the wider council that we remained passive in order to husband our scarce resources for the coming decisive battle. I think what he told the council was the closest to the truth."

"At the expense of the two biggest cities in the Fire Country!" Eijirou retorted, pounding his fist on the Hokage's desk. "If _any _of this ever gets out…"

"And that, I think, was the Fourth's rationale. By playing things close to his chest, he gave everyone deniability if word ever go out about what we were doing while Kyoushuun and Hikyou burned. If everyone's being told different things by the Hokage, how can the village _possibly _be expected to organize an effective resistance? If anything ever gets out, the only viable target for recrimination is the Fourth and the Fourth alone," Sarutobi said, rocking back in his chair. "And, from there, all I know is what I've found in his notes and other personal effects. After the fall of Hikyou, the Fourth knew the Kyuubi was coming for the village and that time was running out. By the time of the battle, the Fourth had managed to devise a functional sealing _jutsu_. But it carried with it a terrible price. There are no easy ways to seal something as powerful as the Kyuubi, so the Fourth was forced to use the most expedient way for his _jutsu_."

Eijirou's eyes widened with realization. "That means—"

"Yes," Sarutobi nodded gloomily, "the easiest way to seal something that powerful is with blood. The Fourth used himself as feedstock, allowing his _jutsu_ to consume _him _in order to seal the Kyuubi.

"You mentioned you needed a 'container' for the Kyuubi to be sealed into," Eijirou asked, voice low and hollow from the shock of the Fourth's actions, "who was chosen to be its prison?"

"The Fourth's wife gave birth a few days before the battle," the Fourth said, closing his eyes and arching his fingers, "He used his own _son _as the vessel into which the Kyuubi would be sealed."

"That's…"

"Why I blame myself for this? Yes, yes you are correct," the Hokage said, head and shoulders sagging. "Had I just had the wherewithal to kill the summoning project when the War ended, the Fourth would still be here _and _his son wouldn't be cursed to carry that _thing_."

"It's not the choices you make, Sarutobi, but how you deal with their consequences that matters," Eijirou replied, in an attempt to be helpful, "it's not much in the grand scheme of things, but it's as good a way as any to start the process of moving on."

"I suppose it is at that, isn't it?" Sarutobi nodded sagely at Eijirou's advice. "Nothing to be gained from blaming myself, is there?"

"Nothing constructive, at any rate," Eijirou snickered, "though getting over blaming yourself is easy. It's getting over blaming _others _that's the hard one. Though, old man, while this has been absolutely fascinating, I'm not _entirely _sure what any of it has to do with why Ayame's being a chuunin."

"Well, following the battle with the Kyuubi, it was the decision of the council to start a campaign to ensure the maintenance of Konoha's pre-Kyuubi force levels."

"'A campaign to ensure the maintenance of Konoha's pre-Kyuubi force levels?" Eijirou scoffed incredulously. "That's one massive load of bureaucratic dribble you've got there, old man. Homura and Koharu actually think it's a _good_ idea to promote untested genins in order to maintain Konoha's paper strength?"

"Not _entirely _untested," Sarutobi corrected Eijirou, "she made it to the final round of the chuunin exams held in Suna last month."

"But she didn't make chuunin there, did she?" Eijirou inquired, fairly sure that he knew the answer to his own question. If she were capable of achieving the rank of chuunin at her age, she certainly would not be doing secretarial work, even if it were for someone like the Hokage.

"No, no she did not," Sarutobi shook his head in the negative. "She was eliminated in the first match of the third round. While technically proficient, it was felt that she lacked the appropriate level of emotional maturity to merit promotion. "

"You know, a small part of me wants to know just _what _she was doing within fifty feet of the chuunin exams to begin with, but I think I've got a pretty good of idea of why she was," Eijirou said with frustration. "I know the Fire Lord's been breathing down both of our necks on the issue of rebuilding Konoha's capabilities up to their pre-war levels. How bad have things been on this end?"

"Not as bad as it is in the Fire Lord's court, thankfully," Sarutobi said with just a hint of relief in his voice, "but yes, there has been substantive pressure both from inside and outside the walls of Konoha to accelerate the reconstitution of our forces. The council feels the quickest way to do that is to increase the number of chuunins and jounins promoted a year."

"Irregardless of the consequences?"

"Irregardless of the consequences."

"Glad to see some things never change," Eijirou sighed, gently massaging his temples. "And, just to speed things up, lemme take a stab in the dark: The reason you didn't pencil me into your schedule was because of the fact that, since Ayame wasn't promoted to chuunin after the exams, you and council didn't bother vetting her for handling sensitive data, right?"

"Correct."

"And so, since by your own admission she's not emotionally ready for chuunin field work, you're stuck with someone not fit for work at her pay grade."

"Correct again."

"And as a result, you've got her doing your secretarial work, but you can't trust her with overly sensitive information," Eijirou beamed sarcastically, as all the pieces fell into place. It was refreshing, he thought, that the council still possessed that perfect mix of gross negligence and outright incompetence that he so fondly remembered it having.

"Yes."

"Just one question: Since _when _was a visit from the head of Konoha's own mission in Hikyou within a stone's throw of being sensitive information?"

"Eijirou, our enemies are legion and we are far from our strongest," the Hokage said, his face and voice a bit more weathered and haggard than they had been a few moments earlier, "your presence here is a state secret. And it must remain as such."

"Might want to lower your dosage of paranoia, Sarutobi," Eijirou said, shaking his with a hint of condescension. "I'd be amazed if anyone in Hikyou outside of the mission knows I'm gone, given how things were when I left."

"Desperate times, Eijirou, desperate times." He took another deep drag on his pipe and exhaled. "Knowledge of your presence here is on a need-to-know basis. And, as of this moment, you and I are the only ones who need to know."

"Sarutobi, I'm all for classification of information when it's required. But, seriously, what's with all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?" Eijirou paused for a moment. "Well, markedly more cloak-and-dagger than usual."

"The winds of change are blowing, old friend, that's why," Sarutobi said as he wheeled around and turned his gaze out the windows behind him once more. "How are things in Hikyou? You implied they are quite bad."

"What?" Eijirou replied, caught off-balance by the Hokage's change of topic yet again. "Well, yeah, things're bad, given that the Kyuubi tore through there like an enraged bull in a shop laden with ceramic fineries. But don't change the subject on me, old man."

"How I deal with my subordinates is _also _my prerogative," Sarutobi smirked with a levity that his earlier comments on prerogative had lacked. "You're going to have to brief me on events in the capitol eventually anyway, so why not humor me and do it now?"

"Well, if you insist. For starters, to say that things are 'bad' is an understatement of epic proportions," Eijirou paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "The Kyuubi demolished half of the city and what it didn't raze outright was ablaze within a few hours. Probably wouldn't have been nearly so bad if the place he'd razed hadn't been the palace complex."

"The Kyuubi leveled the palace of the Fire Lord?" Sarutobi whistled softly at his own statement. "While it has been quite a few years since I was there, I remember it being the most heavily fortified place I had ever seen in my life."

"Me too, and that was _before _Fire Lord Hatagaki got paranoid," Eijirou took a moment to shake his head at the mention of Hatagaki's paranoia. "As he got older, Hatagaki lost what trust he had in you and the village: More than once I was treated to a tirade about how _I _was a tool of a vast conspiracy to keep the war going, because the ninjas were colluding to keep the fighting going and bleeding Hatagaki's treasury dry. So late in the war he started pouring money into an army recruited from the peasantry and into fortifications in and around Hikyou. Whole lot of good they did him in the end, though."

"You make it sound like the Fire Lord is dead."

"That's because he _is_."

"Fire Lord Hatagaki is…dead?" The Hokage echoed, stunned at the premature demise of Hatagaki. It saddened him, as Hatagaki had once been what Sarutobi would have called a friend, before he had lost his trust and faith in Konoha in his later years. At one time, before the Fire Lord gave into paranoia, one of his own children had been intended to marry into Hatagaki's family, prior to the unexpected death of Hatagaki's third daughter, which had torpedoed the arranged marriage. And, on top of _that_, Hatagaki had been the Fire Lord for as long as Sarutobi had been the Hokage: Hatagaki's death did not bode well for him, he thought, no matter how silly it sounded. "Are you sure?"

"Unless he's returned as a member of the living dead with a craving for brains since my departure from the city, I'm positive," Eijirou smirked at his own humor. "The story gets better still, though," Eijirou said, his voice dripping with morbid sarcasm, "The Kyuubi didn't just get Hatagaki. It also got his three sons and two of his brothers, who were killed either in the initial strike on the palace or in the chaotic hours afterwards trying to come up with a coherent defense of the city."

"That is…most unfortunate," Sarutobi said hollowly, shocked by the events that had transpired. Losing the Fire Lord was bad enough: That most of the male side of his family had perished as well meant that the government was in chaos. "I had heard that the government was in turmoil, but nothing like this."

"The Privy Council is trying to keep a lid on news coming and going from the city. What's left of it, anyway," Eijirou shook his head in disgust at the situation.

"What's left of the Privy Council or what's left of the city?" the Hokage inquired.

"Both," Eijirou chuckled. "In his last days Hatagaki played things increasingly close to his chest, which meant the Council was made up mostly of his family, cronies, and hangers-on. But with Hatagaki, the Prince Royal, Minister of War, Foreign Minister, and Minister of the Interior dead, the Council's lost most of its authority, as those who weren't part of Hatagaki's family were mostly just preening court leeches given patronage for their loyalty or standing with Hatagaki," Eijirou smiled as he indulged in referring to a good half of the Privy Council, with which he had been at odds for years, as leeches. "At any rate, what's left of the garrison is trying to blockade the city, but given that they're having a hard enough time maintaining basic law and order, the lockdown of people leaving the city has been…less than effective."

"As your presence here attests," the Hokage chuckled.

"Now, now," Eijirou chided Sarutobi, "I like to think of it as my mastery of the arts of the ninja that got me here."

"Perhaps," Sarutobi snickered, "perhaps. But this news of the government in chaos is most distressing indeed. If there are no surviving male relatives of Lord Hatagaki's line, what is to happen to Hikyou and, indeed, the rest of the country?"

Eijirou grew serious as the Hokage asked his question. It was something he'd thought a fair bit about himself on his journey from Hikyou. He wasn't sure he liked what he thought was coming. "Well, Hatagaki's line within the royal family is not _quite _dead, as he still has one brother left: Prince Heiru, the ambassador to the Water Country. But let's be honest, Sarutobi: Prince Heiru survived only because of the fact that his ambassadorship is diplomatic exile."

"The Country of Water?" Sarutobi whistled softly. "That ensures Kiri will attempt to delay Heiru's return to Hikyou in support of whatever machinations they may have for or against the throne."

"That makes the bold presupposition he even _attempts_ to return to Hikyou," Eijirou sniggered as he replied, "as he's got _just _the right mix of reckless ambition and innate stupidity that he'd make a perfect candidate for the council." That caused Sarutobi to glower disdainfully at Eijirou. "Sarutobi, he succeeded in getting the royal court to form a _lynch mob_. These people can barely agree that the sky's blue: Getting them to agree that someone's worth killing is quite the accomplishment. All the more so when it's you. Only reason he's not fluttering in the breeze from an oak tree is that Hatagaki managed find him a way out of the country before the mob could get to him."

"He sounds like…quite the character," Sarutobi nodded cautiously, "but if Hatagaki's line is dead, for all its and purposes politically, what is to become of the throne?"

"Well, assuming that there is a palace coup in which the presumptive heir, Heiru, is deposed, that leaves us with myriad princes of the blood, who are Hatagaki's uncles and more distant cousins and nephews, the most prominent of whom are the Minister of Finance, Prince Naruma and General Katsumaru, commander of the Army of the Central Plains."

"I've had the…pleasure of meeting both of them," Sarutobi replied slowly, almost gagging on the word "pleasure", "I was…less than impressed with both of them."

"The former can't see beyond his ledgers and the latter's a preening blowhard, to be sure," Eijirou chuckled, "and, should things come to blows, it will be protracted. Katsumaru's power base is in the Army of the Central Plains, which while devastated by the Kyuubi, is still strong enough to make quick work of Namura and most other challengers. But that assumes the rest of the army remains neutral: If not, Katsumaru lacks the strength to fight them _and _whatever can Namura raise. And, if I had to bet good money, I'd say the army won't stay neutral. The other regional armies are commanded by princes of the blood, just like Katsumaru, few of whom are overly enamored with him."

"And what forces can Prince Namura call upon?"

"I can't really say," Eijirou shrugged reluctantly, "whatever's left of the palace guard will probably fight for him. Plus he's got whatever forces he can raise from his own estates and those of political allies. He might be able to convince once of his kin who commands one of the regional armies to fight on his behalf, but I've got my doubts about that: Most of them hate him as much as they hate Katsumaru."

"And us."

"And us," Eijirou nodded, "Namura's certainly more likely to put out a contract for an army. But that's relative: He'd _hate _to have to pay the exorbitant price for a mercenary army, be it of ninjas or regular ol' ordinary mercenaries. Hiring ninjas is anathema to Katsumaru, as he's spent most of his career railing against us and advocating for more funding for the army.

"Which means we could well be getting a call to help Prince Namura, or gods know what _other _potential member of Hatagaki's extended family, fight in bid for the throne," Sarutobi shook his head in frustration. "This has the potential to rapidly spiral out of control."

"Assuming we're still in control," Eijirou interjected. "There's also still the wildcard that is Prince Tekimaru. He's more dangerous than Heiru, Naruma, and Katsumaru _combined_."

"Oh?"

"I got your summons a few hours after an old friend and _very _reliable source informed me of a closed door meeting between Tekimaru and Naruma. So, while I don't know precisely _what_ Tekimaru is up to, I do know he's up to _something_," Eijirou sighed. "But from what I heard through my other channels before I left, I _think _he's offered to raise an army for Namura."

"That's impossible," Sarutobi asserted flatly.

"Oh? It is?" Eijirou cocked a doubtful eyebrow. "If you've got better sources in Hikyou than I do, I'd love to hear about them."

"That's not what I meant," Sarutobi protested, "Tekimaru's father is one of the poorest, weakest, and least influential members of the royal family. How could he hope to raise an army?"

"Maybe he's intending to use the half of his family that _isn't _royal," Eijirou shot a glare at Sarutobi, "but that gets back to you shunning my counsel, doesn't it?"

"If you've something to say, Eijirou, say it," Sarutobi's said, reverting to his Hokage Voice, which tottered between graveness and fury. "Lest I think you're content to simply imply disloyalty from those within the village of Konoha."

"Fine," Eijirou scowled, "I think Tekimaru's going to use his mother's family tree to raise an army to squash Katsumaru for Namura and Namura's probably agreed to a generous compensation package, probably to come out of Katsumaru's hide. What worries me is what comes after that, as I don't think Namura's thought that far ahead."

"That's baseless rumormongering against one of the most respected clans in Kono—"

"That's the _truth_, old man," Eijirou shouted, interrupting the Hokage as he slammed his fist on the Third's desk for a second time. "Prince Tekimaru is the ambitious half-Hyuugan bastard child I _warned _you was destined to come when you approved of Tomiko Hyuuga's marriage to one Hatagaki's more distant cousins," Eijirou seethed much to his own satisfaction. Years in the wilderness that was Hikyou had taught him the rather jaded pleasure one could take at one's own vindication and he was loathe to let such an opportunity pass. "Sarutobi, what makes Tekimaru dangerousis that he's _smart_. He's ambitious and has an inferiority complex bigger than the Mt. Hokage, but he's competent and is capable of seeing the big picture in ways Namura can't. But fine, let's assume the Hyuugas of the village abide by your decision to stay out of the conflict. Konoha's Hyuugas aren't the only ones that pose a problem. Tekimaru is still capable of drawing on the land and manpower of the Hyuuga family beyond the walls of the village, which, let me remind you Sarutobi, is where the _vast _majority of their real strength lies. And even then, our original assumption is a fairly shaky one at that, as he needs only a handful of auxiliaries in order to turn the tide. Do you honestly think some of the more ambitious members of the family wouldn't support Tekimaru for their own benefit?" Eijirou bit his lip after finishing that statement, knowing that he was pushing the limits of the Hokage's patience. He and Sarutobi had a turbulent relationship, to be sure, but their arguments tended to be moments of clarity. Antagonizing any further him would do little to help further Eijirou's cause.

The Hokage started to say something in response, before stopping and pursing his lips. He began, and stopped, again in short order, furrowing his brow. "What you say is quite grave," Sarutobi at least broke his cycle of starting and stopping, "and as much as I wish I could deny it, much of what you say is true. I think you're overreacting, Eijirou, but your concerns are valid and, as much I joke of it, your network of contacts in Hikyou is without question the best I have had at my disposal. I shall have the ANBUs keep a closer eye on Tekimaru, in the hope of finding out what he is up to, if anything."

"Sense coming from the Hokage _and _deference to my experience? At the same time, no less? Never thought I'd see the day!" Eijirou laughed raucously, before realization set in. "Wait a second. _Had _at your disposal?"

"With any luck, you'll be seeing quite a bit more of one or the other it in the coming months," Sarutobi smiled widely, which unnerved Eijirou even more. "As, effective immediately, you're being reassigned to Konoha."

Eijirou stared dumbfounded at Sarutobi. "I'm _what_?" he stammered , "now come on Hokage-_sama_, just because I cracked a few jokes, that's no reason to reassign me away from a post I've held for more than a decade…"

"Hokage-'_saga_'? That _is _new, coming from you," Sarutobi chortled with a fair amount of haughtiness. "But no, you're not being reassigned because of that blunt instrument you like to call a rapier wit. Your reassignment is actually why I summoned you."

"Wait-wait-wait," Eijirou gestured with his hands for a pause in the conversation, "you order me back here with all due haste and classify it as a state secret because I'm…being reassigned here? That doesn't exactly pass the smell test."

"No, I suppose it does not," Sarutobi half-smiled as he thought about it in passing, "but it _was _done for good reasons."

"Is this where I get the lecture on circumstances mandating my sacking, Sarutobi?" Eijirou sighed. "Because, you know, if you wanted to get rid of me and keep it on the down-and-down, I'd've thought ANBUs would've been much more efficient."

"You know, for someone who's receiving a promotion, you're taking it rather poorly," Sarutobi glowered at Eijirou. Eijirou began to open his mouth to respond, but Sarutobi shushed him with a wave of his hand. "Would you at least be quiet long enough to hear _what _you're being promoted to before complaining?" Eijirou nodded hesitantly at Sarutobi's request. "Thank you for granting me the privilege of speaking without interruption in my own office," Sarutobi bowed slightly for Eijirou before continuing. "Effective immediately, you are to be reinstated to active duty ninja status as a jounin and promoted to the rank of senior jounin, with all the rights and privileges therein attendant."

For a few moments, Eijirou just stood askance, jaw dangling, his mouth a perfect O-shape. He hadn't been an active duty ninja for the better part of a decade and, even then, during his last years of active duty service, he'd spent most of his behind a desk or in a conference room. It had been over fifteen years since he'd properly been in the field, as he'd spent the final years of the war in Konoha and Hikyou. He wasn't sure he could keep up with the likes of fresh-faced kids like Ayame anymore, let alone the other jounins who'd be his subordinates as a senior jounin.

As Eijirou stood there, dumbfounded, the Hokage beamed inwardly. "So," Sarutobi asked, breaking the silence that had descended upon his office, "what do you think?"

"What I think would probably get an ANBU detail in here," Eijirou said, still hung over from the shock. "Are you _insane_? There's no way I can keep up with kids two or three decades my junior."

"The captain of the palace guard and sergeant major of the Hikyou garrison seem to think differently," Sarutobi replied, reaching into his desk, pulling out a folder, and sliding it over to Eijirou. As Eijirou opened the folder and flipped through it, Sarutobi began to speak once more. "Perhaps my contacts in Hikyou _are_ better than yours, Eijirou. Or perhaps I just call in a few favors of my own from time-to-time to make sure you're still being a good boy," he chuckled to himself.

Eijirou nodded sheepishly. "With all due respect, Sarutobi, what I do with my free time is my own business." This, Eijirou thought, could only end badly. He had, from time to time, agreed to help in the drilling of the palace guard and Hikyou garrison by providing a sparing partner and enemy infiltrator as were needed. That kind of behavior was not exactly appreciated by some in Konoha: It was, in several ways, decreasing the value and utility of the ninja by improving the efficacy of non-ninja guards while at the same time making it more dangerous for a ninja to operate around them.

"True, true," Sarutobi nodded, "but I'm also told that you've blocked off weeks of your schedule at a stretch to help with the training and readiness of the forces of Hikyou." Eijirou winced at that. "From time to time" had, he hated to admit, degenerated at times into a wanton disregard for his stated duties. During the War, the drills had been an outlet for the rage he felt over his falling out with the council and, being far removed from the front, a way to contribute to the war effort. They also kept his own skills up to snuff, lest they ossify over the course of his endless meetings and sessions and liaisons with royal government. After the end of hostilities, he'd continued doing it whenever he got the chance, as it was a break from the pettiness and shallowness of the court. Either way, though, it _did _constitute the Hokage's business where his emissary in Hikyou was for weeks at a time. "So, Eijirou, just _why _was I not told about this?"

Eijirou pursed his lips as he mulled how to respond to that. He knew he was making a mistake by making faces as he was thinking, but he lacked the will to hide his thought processes. He knew Sarutobi well enough to know that there was _no _good way to answer the question. While the ANBUs probably wouldn't be sent after him like they would be if he were a ninja of Kiri or Iwa and had pulled the same stunt, the fact remained that what he had done was, for the most part, held in great distaste by a great many ninjas. His promotion was probably gone at this point and he'd probably be stuck back on active duty. He could resign, he supposed, and nab a cozy little appointment back in Hikyou: He certainly had enough favors owed him in the capitol so as to make that an easy proposition. All told, though, there just wasn't any reason _not _to tell the Hokage the truth.

"Because…well…I was angry," Eijirou said hesitantly, as if his teeth were being pulled with each word. Admitting what he'd done, and why, was harder than he'd anticipated. "The palace guards were for the most part illiterate about counter-infiltration and counter-espionage when I got there. And gods, Sarutobi, I was mad. Mad with the council, mad with you…so I found a vent in training them. Knew the council would hate the idea, if only to placate Danzo, and I knew you'd drag your feet on it, if only out of wartime pragmatism," he continued, savoring a little the relief of finally letting go of some of the feelings he'd kept bottled up inside since he'd been ridden out of Konoha on a rail. "After that, I don't know…they learned quick, and it became a game. As they got better, I started to take pride in 'em, as I felt like I was helping build something important. Later, the program expanded to include the garrison, and I found I liked the work even more when I had more hands to guide and eyes to evade. And it made me feel like I was contributing to the war effort, even if I was back behind the lines. After the Fourth came to power…well, what he didn't know didn't hurt him."

"I see," Sarutobi nodded sagely. That steam was not spewing from beneath the Third's hat surprised Eijirou. He'd expected Sarutobi to go ballistic or, at the very least, lecture him on the dangers on revealing any of the secrets of ninjadom to the uninitiated. But the Hokage was not done with Eijirou. "You are quite correct about the council hating the idea. And you are probably right about my dislike of it, too. I'm not terribly fond of this sort of thing," the Third shrugged, taking a piece of paper from the folder and handing it to Eijirou, who quickly skimmed it. "But the results speak for themselves. I got this request for allocation of appropriate resources for setting up a similar program of counter-infiltration and counter-espionage training in Kyoushuun about a month ago. Apparently your program was a smashing success, rolling up both Iwa's and Kiri's court spy rings and foiling the groundwork of an enemy ANBU assassination attempt on, well, someone in Hatagaki's government."

"I can explain that--"

"Which part? The foiled spy rings or the foreign ANBU plot?" Sarutobi said, arching an eyebrow. "Or maybe the part where no one in Konoha has heard hide-nor-hair of _either_? Or the captured foreign agents involved in them, for that matter?"

"Hey, I was never told about _any_ of that," Eijirou said hastily, gesturing negatively with his arms. "All they ever told _me _was that they were satisfied with my work. I'd heard about the ANBU thing through the grapevine, so I assumed it was just one of ours stopping one of theirs and I was just so far out of the loop no one bothered telling me about the activities of our ANBUs anymore."

"If only I could be so lucky!" Sarutobi laughed heartily before returning to the contents of the folder."I've also got reports of some of your training sessions," he said, gaining a great deal of satisfaction from Eijirou's squirming. "Quite, quite detailed reports. Is it true that you lead the palace guard in a ten-lap run around the city's outer wall, every single day? At _dawn_, no less?"

"Well, I wouldn't say lead—"

"And that you've won the Hikyou garrison's Raging Bull martial arts tournament three years running?"

"Four years running."

"_Four_?"

"Well, the first year was a _technically _a tie. But the other guy hit the ground before I did," Eijirou said, casting his eyes towards the floor in an attempt to escape from the awkwardness of the moment. "Are you almost done?"

"Almost," Sarutobi said with that same big, dumb smile from earlier returning to his face. "Is it true you once wrestled the sergeant-at-arms for the palace guard with the explicit goal of proving it possible to 'put one's head into one's ass'?"

"Well, it _is _possible," Eijirou stated with a certain amount of misplaced pride, "it's just very, _very _uncomfortable, as Keichi found out. Wouldn't have come to that had he not challenged me to make him when I told him where he could shove that big head of his." As Sarutobi began to speak once again, Eijirou held up his hands,. "I yield, I yield, all right? So I lied. I _can _keep up with kids half my age. But why press me back into service, Sarutobi? Surely there must be others who are fitter than I."

"I can't think of all that many, Mr. Raging Bull of Hikyou," Sarutobi chuckled at Eijirou's expense before narrowing his now darkened eyes as he considered Eijirou's question. "That is the crux of it, isn't it? The fact of the matter is that there _aren't_," he sighed softly as he spoke. "The ranks of Konoha's jounin have been devastated, both by the War and the Kyuubi. For better or worse, we're at the very bottom of the barrel. And that is why your presence here is a state secret: Were the other nations and hidden villages to find out that we are pressing grandfathers back into service, it would a humiliating showing of weakness."

"You and the council have already shown you've got no compunctions about fast-tracking genins into chuuninhood, so why not chuunins into jouninhood?" Eijirou questioned, with a tone that cast a dubious light on the Third's statement.

"We've already promoted as many as we can without wrecking havoc upon the genin squads or further diluting the skills and proficiencies required and expected of a jounin. And even then, we're coming up short, _especially_ in terms of ninja who've got combat experience or leadership qualities," Sarutobi stood, looking Eijirou squarely in the eyes, "which, for better or worse, you've got in spades. You've already shepherded two genin teams to maturity, including one during the war, commanded a battalion, served on the council, and have spent more time in and around Hikyou than every other jounin _combined_. Your resume is one of the most impressive this village has ever turned out and this promotion is probably long overdue."

Eijirou thought about all that had been said by the Hokage. He had no question that he was needed here: His conversation with Ayame had convinced of that. But was it worth the cost? He hated to admit it, but he'd come to like his cushy posting in Hikyou and rubbing elbows with the most powerful in the Country of Fire, even if it did mean enduring the royal court. Putting a tactical vest back on for Konoha meant giving that up, even if he was going to be one of the most powerful ninjas in the village. He sighed inwardly: Even if he didn't want to give up his post in Hikyou, he didn't have much say in the matter, if Sarutobi deigned it to be. The Hokage could _order_ him back to Konoha and impress him back into the service under the threat of imprisonment or, worse still, being handed over the ANBUs. It was best not to make Sarutobi give that order.

"Fine, you win," Eijirou relented aloud. "Not that I really have much choice in the matter. My was choice between the vest, the Uchihas, or the ANBUs, after all. I do have a question, though: If I'm coming back home, just who is going to run things in Hikyou?"

"I assumed one of your deputies would take over—"

"Whoa, whoa!" Eijirou once more shook his hand in the negative. "Half of my staff are rejects from the bureaucratic academies of Hikyou and the other half are political appointees from here in their own diplomatic exiles. I don't trust any of them to run a ramen shop in any way other direction than into the ground, let alone a diplomatic mission."

"So just how did you get anything done, then, if your staff is made up of nothing but incompetents?" Sarutobi arched an eyebrow.

"Let's just say I've become a _very _good cat herder," Eijirou smiled, "but at any rate, you'd best be getting some _sake_ up here, as if we're going to be selecting a new head of the mission from a pool of its current staff, it'd be best if we did it while drunk."

"Cynical as ever, aren't you Eijirou?"

"One of the many things I get paid for," he chuckled to himself. "Which begs another good question: Just what _else _am I going to get paid for with this little promotion?"

"Just a creative application of one of those specialties you perfected in Hikyou," Sarutobi smiled in a way all too suspiciously familiar to Eijirou, "you're Konoha's newest kitten wrangler."

"Oh _gods_," Eijirou slapped his palm against his forehead. "_Please_ tell me you don't mean genins. _Please, please _tell me you don't mean genins."

Sarutobi produced another folder from within his desk, bearing the words "Cell 13" in big, bold letters upon its cover, and slid it over to Eijirou. "You didn't expect me to give you a raise without added responsibility, did you Eijirou?"

"Added responsibility I can handled," Eijirou scoffed, "it's the added headaches I could do without." Eijirou grabbed the folder and flipped it open. "Hyuuga, Hanaryuu," he murmured, reading aloud the name at the top of the first page of the file. She was, from the photo provided, not particularly extraordinary for a Hyuuga: Perfectly manicured features, with her unnaturally white eyes drawing the viewer's attention to the center of the photo, with navy hair pulled back into a single ponytail which cascaded down and out of the photograph, wearing a stark, emotionless expression which portended the dour and depressing, the kind of look that could only be acquired from spending one's childhood in the asylum known as the Hyuuga family compound.

"Well, judging by her _eyes_…" Eijirou said, removing the paper-clipped mug shot of Hanaryuu and studying it for a few moments, "she's, what, Hirobumi's daughter? Granddaughter?"

The Hokage, for the first time in as long as Eijirou could remember, was genuinely dumbstruck. Eijirou stifled a laugh at Sarutobi's expense. He'd actually gotten a similar response the first time he'd managed to identify a member of the Hyuuga family's lineage just from looking at their eyes. It was, Eijirou thought, not all that much harder than attempting to identify a normal person's parentage: Most just seemed to be blindsided by the Byakugan. Indeed, he thought, it was actually easier to do than with ordinary folks, given the near-caste system the clan bred according to.

"Yes…yes, you are correct. Hanaryuu is Hirobumi's daughter," the Hokage said, still in shock. "Just how _can_ you identify her based on her _eyes_?"

"Oh, spend enough time around the Hyuugas and _anything_ becomes possible," Eijirou murmured, only half to himself. "I've known Hirobumi since I was eight and gods only know I practically _lived _in that compound for fifteen years. Hatagaki also made me the royal gofer and liaison between the palace and the family. While the Byakugan alters and bleaches the iris and cornea, they're still there. Pigmentation variance is there, too, you just need what to look for. And have a good enough eye to catch the, at times, exceptionally minor differences in coloration and shape. After that it's no different than trying to identify a normal person's parentage by their eye shape and color: Hanaryuu just happens to have her father's eyes."

"That makes a great deal of sense. Quite impressive, too," Sarutobi nodded, "though I believe this is the first time you've mentioned it."

"Because a great deal associated with that family _shouldn't_ be known," Eijirou murmured once more, as much to himself as the Hokage, while continuing to read Hanaryuu's biography. "Her mother's Himiko? Glad to see first cousins are still fair game within the family," he sighed with a hint of disgust, before he finished skimming over what the Hokage had provided on her. "Cute, Sarutobi, cute," he said, flipping past the first page and finding nothing more on Hanaryuu, "but just where's the rest of her background?"

"That is all we have on her," Sarutobi replied, arching an eyebrow at where Eijirou might carry this branch of the conversation.

"You're _kidding_ me," Eijirou said, with a look of bewilderment in his eyes and skepticism in his voice. "I mean, it just drops off after she graduated from the academy fifteen months ago. No mention of techniques, mission reports, skills assessments, jounin evaluations…"

"That's because there are none," Sarutobi said tersely, "after she graduated, her mother opted to bring in a private tutor for her as opposed to letting her be assigned to a genin team."

"And just _how _did she manage to do _that_, old man?" Eijirou replied incredulously, "I mean, it's been a _long _while since I checked the village charter, but isn't service _required _in order to reside in the village?"

"Yes and no," Sarutobi sighed. "While you are correct, the bloodlined families have a special arrangement, by which they are given a six month grace period in order to orient newly-minted genins in the ways of the world before having to let them be assigned to a genin team," he said holding up his hand as Eijirou began to respond, "and before you start and impugn my mathematical aptitude, yes, I _am _fully aware that the Hyuugas are nine-months late in releasing Hanaryuu to my custody for placement in a genin squad. She's of patriarch's line, so the family will tolerate the _status quo _as long as Himiko is willing to keep it up, and circumstances have for the most part prevented the forcing of the issue. Now, though, we need every able-bodied ninja we can get and that includes her."

"Hiashi's not going to like this," Eijirou groaned, making known his uneasiness about having to deal with the head of the Hyuuga family. "He's hidebound, stubborn, and unable to tolerate having his authority undermined and this looks like nothing more than crass politicking at the expense of the clan and him in particular, even if it is needed." _And all of this is _before _we start compounding things with my history with Hiashi_, Eijirou groaned once more, this time inwardly.

"Whether he likes it or not is not my concern, Eijirou, or yours either, for that matter," Sarutobi replied, "and I think you undersell his devotion to the village."

"And I think you underestimate his ego," Eijirou groused in turn, "at any rate, have you informed Himiko of your decision?"

"Yes, I have," Sarutobi nodded, "though I did opt for the better part of valor and not mention that you were the team's jounin."

"Thank heaven for small miracles," Eijirou sighed with relief, "though I have one more question: While she's of Hiashi's line, is she main family or branch family? Her crest blocks where the cursed seal would be." _Just so I can know what type of complex to prepare for_, Eijirou thought morbidly to himself.

"Main."

_Superiority complex the size of Hikyou it is._

"Moving on, then," Eijirou said gingerly, flipping to the next entry in the folder, one several times thicker than Hanaryuu's. "Uchiha, Fumio," he recited. That made his temples hurt. His job had just gotten markedly more difficult and he hated the Third for foisting it upon him. It was no secret that the there was bad blood between the Uchihas and Hyuugas: What fewer knew that that was true literally as well as figuratively, as the Uchihas had up until the Second Great Ninja War and the founding of modern Konoha been distant cousins of the Hyuugas.

_Had _was, of course, the operative word for Eijirou. The Second Great Ninja War had seen the implosion of the Greater Hyuuga clan, which was a euphemism for the relatively unified family of the Hyuugas, Uchihas, and the other now extinct or moribund optical bloodlines of Konoha, with the possessors of the Byakugan for the most part slaughtering those who did not possess it in the name of the genetic purity of the family. The end of the Second War, however, had not seen the end of such sentiments: Instead, they had been allowed to fester as the family wrapped itself in decades of eugenics and obsession over pedigree. What really scared Eijirou was that, as recently as three weeks earlier, he had had a conversation with a branch family member who was returning from the Country of Tea who had mentioned, in passing, that the world would probably be better off if the Hyuugas had finished killing the Uchihas during the Second War. For a member of the branch family to broach the subject so openly and casually frightened Eijirou, as it was indicative of just how widely held and deeply seated the belief was by the rest of the clan. That and there were more than enough loose cannons in both the branch and main families to try and finish what their ancestors had started.

"This could be a problem," Eijirou stated flatly after pausing for a few moments to mull over his thoughts. "I mean of the sort in which someone could well end up with a kunai lodged in their skull."

"I think you're overreacting," Sarutobi sighed heavily at Eijirou's reply. "You've been beating this drum for years, Eijirou. And you've yet to produce a single, solitary shred of evidence that any Hyuuga is planning on killing any Uchiha for any reason, eugenic or otherwise."

"I'm _sorry_ I haven't found you any such evidence for you, Hokage-_sama_, but there just aren't all _that_ many ways to ask 'hey, planning on killing any Uchihas today?' that aren't terribly awkward," Eijirou stated drolly, "and do give me a little credit, old man. I've spent the most time any outsider has with Hyuugas and if _anyone _has gotten a look into their mindset, it's me. And, let me tell you something Sarutobi, I _have _gotten a glimpse into their worldview, and it scares the living _shit_ out of me."

"You're being melodramatic again," Sarutobi rolled his eyes, "despite your time in Hikyou, there is not a conspiracy under every rock waiting to be uncovered, Eijirou."

"And I think you'd be amazed just how many conspiracies _are_," Eijirou shot back, returning to Fumio's file. She was, in many ways, what Hanaryuu seemed not to be: Short, scraggly hair as black as night sprouted in what appeared to be every direction, with two prominent, thick bangs framing her face in a way that would have given any self-respecting Hyuuga a seizure. While Hanaryuu had portended gloom, Fumio seemed to radiate exuberance, wearing a feisty grin and with a certain energy in her ebon eyes. She seemed the spunky sort, which Eijirou thought would be badly needed to counter the presence of a main family Hyuuga.

Flipping past her photo, Eijirou delving into the meat of Fumio's file. Most of it was the standard fare found in such archival files: Evaluations by teachers at the academy, assessments and comments by jounin team leaders, results from official skills tests, and other useful tidbits of bureaucratic minutia that could be read later. After flipping past them, he got to what he was looking for: A sheaf of citations and reports bearing the official seals of both the police and, slightly more surprising, the military police of Konoha.

"Vandalism, disruption of the peace, conduct unbecoming of a ninja…" Eijirou recited the litany of charges Fumio's file contained, "insubordination, conspiracy to mutiny, _incitement_ to mutiny, assault on a superior officer…" he trailed off at the final and just stared at Sarutobi for a moment. "Just _how _does a _thirteen year-old _girl get a disciplinary citation for a court-martialble offense? Better still, how can anyone who's in their right mind accuse her of inciting mutiny?"

"Fumio's former team leader was not…the most tolerant of dissent within the ranks," the Third nodded as he settled on that particular euphemism to describe Fumio's former mentor, "so the military police opted to simply write her up on the jounin's charges as a means of placating her team leader and keeping him quiet."

"Even assuming all the stuff from the military police is frivolous, which most of it probably is," Eijirou turned his eyes back to Fumio's folder, "that still doesn't explain _half _of the stuff in here. We did stupid stuff when we were kids, Sarutobi, but we _never _got written up like she has been."

"True," Sarutobi nodded in agreement, "Fumio's been a problem since she graduated from the academy. She apparently has great trouble working within 'rigid social structures' or so the shrinks tell me," Sarutobi made no attempt to hide the sociological pap he had just regurgitated. "Apparently it means she takes to delinquency and vigilantism because she chaffs under authority and her home and squad were about nothing if not discipline and order."

"What it sounds like is more apologia for troublemakers," Eijirou scoffed. "So just what do you want me to do with her, Sarutobi? If her parents and old team were all about discipline and order, putting her with _me _certainly isn't going to ameliorate things."

"I'm not expecting mere amelioration, Eijirou. I expect you to get her into line," Sarutobi said in his Hokage Voice. "From what her instructors have told me, she's quite sharp and has quite a bit of potential, and she's held back only by an inability to control her temper and mouth. Sound familiar? I should hope so," Sarutobi chuckled while Eijirou rolled his eyes. "She's pig-headed, headstrong, and as stubborn as a mule. As are you, Eijirou. And yet, in spite of yourself, you've managed to be a success. I think if anyone were able to teach her how to deal with her rebellious tendencies, it would be you."

"Oh, when you put it like _that_, how could I _possibly _disagree?" Eijirou said, rolling his eyes for a second time. "It's not going to be easy, you know. _Especially _if Hanaryuu is anything like her…grand…niece…in-law?" Eijirou trailed off for a moment, before shaking his fist skyward in frustration. "Gods I _hate_ the Hyuugan family tree. If she's anything like Hiashi's wife."

"From what I hear, Hirobumi and Hiashi haven't exactly had a warm relationship of late. I can only assume that this extends to their families, as well," Sarutobi said with a shrug, "though I could be wrong. You _are _the resident Hyuuga expert, aren't you Eijirou?"

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed, you know."

"Yes, yes it would've, but then you wouldn't have been on the receiving end for a change," Sarutobi smiled as Eijirou slapped his forehead with his palm. "At any rate, you have my permission to 'crack a few skulls together', as you'd so colloquially put it, if the need arises."

"Colloquially? That's a big word for you, Sarutobi. Been hitting the dictionary when Ayame's back is turned?" Eijirou chuckled to himself as he turned back to his team's folder, though he heard Sarutobi's huff of discontent. Briskly flipping past the rest of Fumio's rather lengthy collection of demerits and citations, he came upon the first page of his team's final member. He felt his stomach knot up when he caught sight of the boy's included photo. It was of a smiling black-haired, brown-eyed teenage boy, a smile that Eijirou remembered all too well

"Katsuhito, Chijiro," Eijirou read the name slowly aloud. "We're going to play a game, Sarutobi," he said, removing the photo and handing it to the Third, "it's called 'Tell Me This Doesn't Resemble Who I Think It Does'. The rules are quite simple: I'm going to ask you 'does this photo resemble who I think it does?' and you're going to tell me 'no, no it does not. Indeed, it bears absolutely no resemblance to who you think it does.' Are we clear on the rules?" Sarutobi nodded hesitantly. "Good, good. Now then, does this photo resemble _who _I think it does?"

"Well, I suppose that all depends on who you think this lad resembles, doesn't it?"

"Obviously we've had a bit of a miscommunication, old man. I understand. You're old and bordering on senility. But could you _please _stick to the enumerated rules of the game?"

"Well, it's a valid question," the Third protested, "I mean, I can see any number of resemblances if I don't know what I'm looking for."

"_Fine_," Eijirou said tartly, "we'll play it your way. Begins with an I, ends in an O, has a C-H-I-R in the middle. See any resemblance to _now_?"

"Ichiro? I know a great many Ichiros—oh. _That _Ichiro."

"Yes. _That _Ichiro."

Sarutobi sat back in his chair and mulled his response for a few moments. "Nope," the Third shrugged nonchalantly, "doesn't look anything like him at all."

"Wrong answer."

"What?" Sarutobi replied innocuously, "I thought that was the right answer. You said so yourself. Well, not _quite _that way, but one half of life is constantly paraphrasing the other half, after all."

"You know, old man, this would be downright _hi-la-ri-ous _if it weren't so damn serious to _me_," Eijirou said, breaking down with a long sigh of frustration and futile anger. "Look, Sarutobi, let's just cut to the chase. We both know you've been leading me on. Your knowledge of the other two in here is too polished: You've read what's in the folder you gave me at least once. So, just for the sake of saving me from finding out myself, is this kid Ichiro's son?"

The Third simply looked at Eijirou for a moment, as if debating whether to inform Eijirou of some terribly grave news. That was confirmation enough for Eijirou. "Yes," the Third said at last, "he's Ichiro's son."

"Well then," Eijirou stated, deadpan, all the emotion draining from his voice. "Isn't this just a _fine _kettle of fish? I've got a _grandson!_" he exclaimed, forcefully driving his fist into his palm. "And _no one tells me_. Not. A. Single. Word. From _anyone_."

"A lot has changed since you left, Eijirou," the Third replied in a soft and quiet voice. "Perhaps no one so much as Ichiro."

"I know he hated me after what happened with the tribunal," Eijirou ran his fingers through his balding scalp in frustration, "but to change his name and not tell me _this_?"

"As I said, much has changed, and none so much as him," the Third reiterated. "Chijiro was born a few months after you'd taken up permanent residence in Hikyou. Given how hectic it was in the year preceding that, I suspect there was never time for Emiko to tell you she was pregnant."

"You should've told me. I should've—"

"Don't do this to yourself, Eijirou."

"Why the hell _not_?" Eijirou shot back angrily, throwing his arms up in frustration. And then, much to surprise of Sarutobi, he began to laugh and clap his hands together. "You know, I've got to give you credit, old man. All that _shit _earlier about the council being wrong and you seeing I was right and the pretending to take my counsel and the sympathy about Chijiro? Very well played. Gods help me, you actually had me _believing _that the council had risen above its natural predilection to _fuck me in the ass_."

"That's _it_," Sarutobi snarled, piss-and-vinegar apparently running through his veins, as his Hokage Voice grew in tenor and authority. "I've put up with your _shit _up to this point Eijirou, because you're one of my oldest friends and because you're _badly_ needed. But this ends _now_."

"Which 'this', old man?" Eijirou scowled back at the Third. "My wanton disrespect of you? You've never called me on it before. The title? Your office does greater disrespect than I ever could. My flippancy? T'is hardwired. My unholy _rage _that _you _would package every _single _loose end from when I left into one nice and neat little genin team?" Eijirou seethed, glaring at Sarutobi, "that's just going to take me a little more time."

"Don't you _dare _blame me for this," Sarutobi said, returning Eijirou's glare. "_You're_ the one who was pontificating earlier about how it's not so much about the choices we make, but how we deal with their consequences. Well, old friend, you've made a _hell _of a lot of choices, choices involving with Ichiro, Hiashi and the Hyuugas, and the council. You were sent to Hikyou to deal with their consequences. I see you haven't done a very good job with them."

"I--…I…" Eijirou began to respond, but trailed off as he thought about what the Hokage had said. The Third was, as much as Eijirou was loath to admit it, right. Those same fever swamps he'd earlier diverted the Third out of when talking about the Fourth, he now found himself wading in upon finding out Chijiro. And, at the moment, he was forgoing his own philosophy of squarely dealing with the consequences of your actions. And for what? Recriminations, insinuations, and a self-pity parade.

"You're right," Eijirou stated frankly, his features slumping as the fire and tension drained from his body. "You'll have my resignation as soon as I can find a place to sit down and write it. I'd also appreciate a few hours head start before you send out the ANBUs, just for old times' sake."

"Just what _are _you babbling about?" Sarutobi arched a quizzical eyebrow.

"Well, given that I just burned every proverbial bridge between here and Hikyou, alienated the last person in the village who I could consider an ally who is in a position of power, _and _heaped a great deal of scorn upon the holder of the title Hokage, it's fair to suspect my life's forfeit."

"You could give me a little credit yourself," Sarutobi replied wryly. "I know what's being asked of you is difficult. So we'll just write this little incident off to you being overstressed by recent events. Gods only know everyone _else _around this place has been."

"I don't know if I can do this," Eijirou declared, with a genuine look of doubt upon his face. "I believe they're all good kids, however misguided one of them may be, and gods know I want to catch up on what I've missed with Chijiro, but I think my presence here is going to do more harm than good."

"Why are you still flailing for excuses, Eijirou?"

"I don't _need _excuses," Eijirou snorted, "I've got more than enough reason to walk out those doors and take my chances with the ANBUs. I'm genuinely concerned that my presence is going to be detrimental for these kids."

"For their parents' blood pressure, perhaps," Sarutobi replied sardonically, "but not for the genins. You have the full support of the Hokage, after all. If any of their parents gives you trouble, send them to me."

"Even if Hiashi gets involved?"

"Even if Hiashi gets involved."

For a moment, Eijirou stood there in silent thought, before speaking once more. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Would I have put up with you for this long if I were not?" Sarutobi smiled at his own wit. "And did we not just cover this a few minutes ago, before all the yelling and shouting about Chijiro?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed Sarutobi, I'm no spring chicken," Eijirou said, slapping his thigh, "or any other type of chicken, no matter how tasty my drumsticks may well be." That prompted an eye-roll from the Third at the corniness of Eijirou's joke. "But seriously, even if I _can _keep up with them physically, I'm not sure I can be what they need in a mentor. Aren't jounin leaders supposed to be showing genins where they're going, not where they'll end up?" Eijirou said while shaking his head in frustration. "Sarutobi, if our roles were reversed, would _you _take this job?"

"No," the Third said flatly, "no I would not. But our roles are not reversed and I am, thankfully, not you."

"Fat lot of encouragement _that _is, old man."

"Take it for what it is," the Third countered, "but let me remind you that this is not the first conversation of this sort that we've had. You were unsure you could lead your first genin squad. You were unsure you could lead an ANBU squad. You were unsure you could command a battalion. You were unsure you could lead the mission in Hikyou. You're _always _unsure of the new, Eijirou, even if it is something you've done before. But you always tackle each and every project you're given with the same obsessively methodical approach and dogged tenacity that I and the council have come to expect from you."

"Is that praise I hear? From the _council _no less?"

"As I said," Sarutobi smirked, "take it for what it is."

"So, since it would appear that there is no way I can humanly get out of this, and that the council actually seems to be _trusting _me and my judgment for once, I guess that just leaves one question: When'll I meet my new team?"

"Not for a couple of weeks, I'm afraid," Sarutobi replied, "while we fabricate an official reason to recall you, we can't very well have you milling about the village. So guest quarters in the Tower's basement in the interim. You're going to have to reside on the premises for a few weeks until that situation's stabilized and we can officially announce your return. Though, it will also provide you with time to find more permanent quarters in the village and better go through the background materials on your team. I do believe that's everything. Anything I've missed?"

"Only that I think I liked you more when the only thing you had organized was your _hentai _collection," Eijirou said dryly as he turned and opened the door, "but, given how eager you appear be to shoo me out of here, I suspect you want to spend a bit of time with it before Ayame returns. I bid you _adieu_, Hokage-_sama_," he said, slamming the door shut behind him before Sarutobi, much to the Third's consternation.

He knew the Hokage would be annoyed, both by his insinuation and by the fact that he'd slammed the door in the Hokage's face. Eijirou was content with that, as Sarutobi had earned a _little_ egg on his face for today, after he had dragged Eijirou home and forced him to take up another genin team. Even though Eijirou had managed to make his peace with his assignment, and even find a few things to be hopeful about, he was not thrilled with it in the least. The events that were transpiring in Hikyou with the princes of the blood, and especially Tekimaru, still troubled him greatly. But worrying about the wider world could wait. _After all, now that I've got a genin team again, it's not _my _job to make sure the capitol doesn't go to hell in a hand basket anymore_. That realization brought a smile to his face, one that he was sure wouldn't fade for a great many hours.

**Author's Notes**

All I can to this is this: _Wow_. What originally grew out of a thought experiment and a few lines of dialogue playful dialogue between the Third and an imaginary old friend, who would in time become Eijirou Kasabayashi, has finally ended, some 15,000 words and six months of intermittent work later. Admittedly, I've never attempted anything quite this large before, either in scope(as "Unlucky Thirteen"'s story will progress up until five years before the start of the Naruto canon) or complexity(with four original characters who truly are living and breathing). However, on the basis of my experience throughout Choices, I think I'm taking the first steps on what will be a wonderful journey.

Choices is, in and of itself, something of a one-shot. While I have an entire universe crafted within my notes, I am not quite so delusional as to think I can _hope _to setup any kind of regular writing and posting schedule for the adventures of Cell 13. So it is recommended that you keep that in mind as you evaluate the worth and value of this work: While it is hopefully the beginning of something bigger, it may well end with itself, though I hope against hope that is not the case.

I suppose props are in order to those who've really made this possible: To Farfar, who endured about a month of my on-again, off-again ramblings about the subject before directing me to someone who actually _knows _about the canon; Kath, thanks for being a sounding board as I crafted the foundations for the universe of Unlucky Thirteen: I have no doubts I wouldn't be here without your constant supply of nods, snerks, and assorted "hoshit"'s and "oh lord"'s.


	2. Reunion Beneath the Founders' Eyes

**Name: **Unlucky Thirteen: Reunion Beneath the Founders' Eyes

**Author: **Christopher J. Velez

**Date: **10/8/2006

**Legal Disclaimer: **_Naruto _is the property of Masashi Kishimoto and all rights to the publication and broadcast of it belong to the myriad domestic and international firms who have purchased said rights. Eijirou Kasabayashi, Fumio Uchiha, Chijiro Katsuhito, and Suguru Henzami are creations of the author. This work's intent is solely to bring merriment to both writer and reader, through the exploration of the world created the Masashi Kishimoto.

**Language Disclaimer: **Being that this is a work of English set in a series whose original language is Japanese and which draws heavily on Japanese and Chinese culture and folklore for its universe, so at times the English language proves inadequate for the task at hand, especially when dealing with idioms and colloquialisms. Thus, certain decidedly American English idioms or Latin or Greek phraseology will turn up from time-to-time as there's no suitable analogue within the canon to either a specific idiom or phrase.

Chijiro yawned absentmindedly. Founders' Park, located in the shadow of the Hokage's Tower and built in commemoration of the founding of Konoha after the end of the Second Great Ninja War, seemed as if the Kyuubi had not been at the gates of the village nearly a month earlier. On this cool and crisp spring morning, the sky was blue and the meticulously tended landscape of the park was coming into bloom: The bronze statue of the Firsts gleamed, with the metallic eminences of the First Five, the men who had founded the modern hidden village system in the hopes of never again seeing a blood-letting like the Second Great Ninja War, still keeping watch over the park, as if there had never been any earthquakes or flying human flotsam from the battle that raged just to north of Konoha. The whole park had a lulling effect, seeming almost as if it had escaped the past three weeks unscathed.

_Almost_, Chijiro reminded himself, was the key word. He and his mother had rushed through Founder's Park on their way to the shelters as the alarm over the Kyuubi's approach was sounded. Even by that early point in the battle, the tremors from the beast's footfalls had started the impact the village, as he distinctly remembered hairline cracks beginning to form in the great granite base of the statue of the Firsts, and thinking it an ominous sign of what was to come. Thankfully, he had been wrong. But that still hadn't saved him from three days on a cot in a dank and overcrowded shelter. That made his neck twinge in pain: It had been two and a half weeks since they'd been allowed to return home and he still hadn't worked all of the kinks out yet.

Chijiro took a slow walk around the statue of the Firsts, examining it intently. He was a few minutes early and he had never really spent any time looking at it, even though he passed the park every other day or so. It was also a better way of killing time than simply twiddling his thumbs and letting nervousness well up inside of him. He was not the type who was unnerved by meeting new people: He blamed his current uneasiness on his mother, who had shown up at his door at dawn to make sure he looked "presentable", whatever _that_ meant.

Admittedly, how to dress when going to meet your new team leader for the first time was not _exactly _something that he was taught at the academy. And he really could see it from her side of things, as she just wanted her son to make a good impression on his new boss. But he hadn't seen it her way then. And that had been the cause of much friction between them. They had went at each other for at least an hour, or so Chijiro thought, before they'd come to an agreement that was amicable to both of them. He, however, thought he'd gotten the better end of the deal. He had managed to convince her to drop her insistence on his wearing flowing fineries and instead acquiesce to a simple and "respectable" look: A dark, collared shirt and beige knee-length shorts, with his crest tied around his forehead, an outfit which wasn't all that terribly different from what he would normally wear, save that his shirt now had a collar.

His mother had, however, remained adamant that he not wear his chest plate, gloves, assorted joint protectors, or tactical vest and not take his kunai holster and quarterstaff, lest their presence ruin the air of understated professionalism she insisted he present. He'd protested strenuously against that, as any illusion of professionalism would implode quite quickly if he did not bring his ninja kit and the new team's jounin wanted a demonstration of his skills. But she had held firm, leaving him only with the recourse of smuggling out whatever kit he could fit into his rucksack. With a little luck and a lot of shoehorning, he'd managed to squeeze his tactical vest, holster, gloves, armguards, elbow- and kneepads into the rucksack while still retaining the essentials and enough food to ensure he wouldn't starve. It was, he felt, quite the accomplishment, given the limited amount of time and space he had to work with.

As he stood there staring at the statue of First Tsuchikage, however, he felt naked. He'd been wearing the same protective gear for the past six months straight: Light tactical vest worn over thick leather chest and back plate, with heavy fabric tactical gloves and cloth-bound leather arm, shoulder, elbow, knee, and shin guards and it simply felt _wrong _to be without the chest plate, shoulder, and shin guards. He felt even more awkward without his quarterstaff, the weapon he'd been working with intermittently for the past three years and which had been at his side nearly every day since he left the academy. He was less than thrilled with the idea of having to demonstrate his melee skills without it, but he was confident enough that his _taijutsu _would suffice should the jounin want a demonstration. There was also little to be gained from more fretting beyond even more worry and anxiety.

The "_Oy, Chiji!_" that resounded from the opposite side of the statue brought Chijiro crashing back to reality with a start. He foundered for a moment as he shook himself free from his introspection, searching for the possessor of the voice that had called to him. As his mind found its feet, he tried to place the voice. He knew he had heard it somewhere before.

"Chijiro Katsuhito," a short, scraggly black-haired girl with equally black eyes, said as she emerged from around the statue. "It _is _you!"

An Uchiha. _Fumio _Uchiha, he remembered, finally matching a name and face to the voice. That realization made his gut roil with turmoil. He hadn't seen Fumio since he'd left the academy, much to his own enjoyment. It had been a _quiet_ year without her in his life. It had been a year without the headaches Fumio's mouth caused. A year without the headache that Fumio herself was.

Upon further inspection, Fumio hadn't really changed all that much from when he had last seen her, at the academy's graduation ceremony. She was still a good half-a-foot shorter than he was and he would have been astonished if she weighed more then eighty pounds. She wore an outfit not entirely dissimilar from his own, though swapping the collared-shirt and tactical vest for a thigh-length jerkin and tunic beneath it and lacking his eclectic assembly of limb protectors.

"I should hope so," Chijiro replied with an exaggerated eye roll, "because if it wasn't me, then that'd mean I'd lost me, and who'd report me missing if I'd lost myself?"

"What?"

"My point exactly!" he said with a laugh, slapping his knee.

"I see that sense of humor of yours is still a twisted morass of the indecipherable rantings of madmen, past and present," she jeered, smirking mightily, "some things never change, do they?"

"That you've managed to say a sentence without the invocation of profanity is proof that there are no eternal truths, Fumio."

"Fuck off, Katsuhito."

"So much for going for two, then?"

"You know, Chiji, I've missed our banter and battles of wit," Fumio replied, grinding her fist into her palm, "they're so much funner than the physical variety."

"I think that's because, unlike most of your other opponents, I'm actually _armed_," Chijiro retorted, grudgingly letting himself enjoy seeing Fumio again. This was, he admitted, what was pleasant about her company. She was sharp if nothing else and she was probably the most capable of thinking on her feet, at least in matters of discussion and rhetoric, in their class. But that silver spoon she had lodged in her mouth, he forcibly reminded himself, was why their friendship at the academy had been so difficult. When they had parted ways, she still hadn't learned when, or even how, to stop herself. He'd be surprised if in their year apart she'd managed to make gains toward either of those goals.

"I hear you've had more than your fair share of the latter since we left the academy," Chijiro stated as delicately as he could, though he had the feeling he was taking a sledgehammer to an exposed nerve.

"Eh, what can I say?" Fumio said with a shrug. "Dipshits say stupid things. I correct them. They, being dipshits, can't accept that their dipshittery is incorrect. And then I have to kick their asses."

_Yep, still no clue when to stop, _Chijiro sighed to himself. He wanted to like Fumio, he really, honestly did. But times, such as this, made that a difficult proposition. One that usually became more difficult the further one progressed into a conversation with her.

"Every one of them couldn't have been wrong—"

"You callin' me a liar, Katsuhito?"

"No," he denied emphatically, "I'm just saying that maybe you were in the wrong once or twice."

"You _are _calling me a liar!" said roared, shaking an accusatory fist at Chijiro. The rational part of Chijiro's mind winced: This was a fight he shouldn't have picked. But, in his infinite wisdom, he had. Which, in all honesty, might not necessarily have been a bad idea for his subconscious. He had five years at the academy with her that he'd never properly gotten off his chest and he'd yet to find an outlet for. At the moment, he couldn't think of any better use for his repressed anger and frustration than using it as fuel for a shouting match.

"I'm calling you a _fool_," Chijiro spat back, "so if you're going to start insinuating that I'm calling you names, at least get them right."

"I think I liked it better when you were calling me a liar," she replied with a cold huff.

"I _never _called you a—you know what? Nevermind," Chijiro gently rubbed his temples. "This is _exactly _what Henzami_-sensai _was talking about. And maybe, just _maybe_, you'd see that if you had even a _hint _of perspective. And maybe we wouldn't be having this conversation if you had even a _trace _of self-control."

"You always _were _old man Henzami's toady," she spat callously, almost choking on Henzami's name. A pang of guilt echoed through Chijiro. He had always felt vaguely responsible for the tumultuous relationship between Fumio and Henzami-_sensai_, if only because he considered the former a friend and his near-constant siding with the latter agitated Fumio to no end.

"Because he was right about—"

"Right about me?" she seethed, turning her back to Chijiro and throwing her arms up to the heavens in frustration as she cut him off mid-sentence. She then turned on her heel back towards him and banged her pointer finger against her chest. "If he was so _right _about me," she scowled with increasing invective, "then maybe _you_ ought to just go join _him_!"

Chijiro sighed heavily to himself. Vindication, he thought, should taste sweet. As realization spread across Fumio's face and her hands clasped over her mouth, Chijiro felt he was entitled to feeling good about being right about Fumio still being unable to control her mouth in particular and lacking any kind of self-control in general. All he found, however, was morbid shame. Suguru Henzami had been the elder statesman of the academy, an icon to whom every ninja-in-training looked up to and strove to emulate. He had been a mentor to all who sought his guidance and was a god-figure to those under his direct instruction, which had included Chijiro and Fumio. He had been killed during the defense of the village, as every able-bodied man and woman was called to ramparts to turn back the Kyuubi. From what Chijiro had heard, there was barely enough left of his old teacher to properly identify the body.

"Chiji…I…I mean…err…" Fumio fumbled for the words she was looking for, after an awkward silence of a few moments. That, bizarrely, brought him a little bit of relief. At least she was cognizant that she had crossed a line. Most arguments between the two of them involving anything related to Henzami-_sensai_ tended keep tumbling out of control even after she had said equally, or even more, disrespectful things of their teacher. That she stopped, and realized the scope of her mistake, impressed him.

"You know, for someone whose mouth gets them into trouble as often as yours does, you really are terrible at this whole apologizing thing," Chijiro grinned a little, in hopes of lightening the mood. As Fumio returned his smile, he felt his mission accomplished.

"This is hard enough _without _your being an asshole," she snorted in slightly better spirits, "and just what makes you think _I'm_ gonna apologize?"

"Well, for starters, a few moments ago you were acting like an actual _human being _after you told me to drop dead in arguably the _worst _fashion imaginable, given the circumstances. On the basis of your behavior, I think you're feeling guilty about what you did and want to find an outlet for that guilt, which would be apologizing," Chijiro replied matter-of-factly, smirking as he did, "and there's the fact you started it. So it only makes sense that you apologize first."

"Wait, wait! _You _were the one who was lecturing _me_. You're _also_ the one who brought up old man Henzami in the first place," she retorted indignantly, eyes widening in realization, "and that means that _you've _got something to apologize for, too!"

"Well, yes, I guess I do have something to apologize for," Chijiro nodded wryly, "but I'm not going to apologize until you do so first. Because, as I said, you _did _start this."

"Well, I'm not apologizing. I didn't do nothin' wrong."

"Guess I'm not apologizing then either."

"We'll see about that!" She smirked in a way that caught Chijiro off-guard. What caught him even more off-guard was when she threw herself at him, tackling him and wrestling him to the ground. After pouncing upon him, she hastily attempted to extricate herself from the grapple she had initiated so as to get into a better position to extract the apology she desired from Chijiro.

That was a mistake. He could see that Fumio hadn't fully thought out just _what_ she intended to do when she'd jumped on him. She had tackled him on playful impulse and only then had started to think about how to wring an apology out of him. As she fumbled to get into a position to pin or otherwise immobilize him, Chijiro saw his opportunity as she momentarily turned her attention away from him.

He quickly and firmly grabbed her left wrist with his right hand. She stopped momentarily, surprised by his action, at point which he rolled to his left, snatching her right wrist and inverting their positions. He now pinned her to the ground with his arms pinning hers at the wrist and, with his legs swept under him, pinning hers at the thigh. It was by no means a perfect hold and would, in all likelihood, have gotten him a stern lecture from the wrestling instructors back at the academy. But it worked for the task at hand: Fumio was petite, much to her own consternation, and his weight was enough to hold her in place beneath him.

"We'll see about what now?" Chijiro grinned broadly, savoring his moment of triumph. Truthfully, he hated to admit, it wasn't all that much of a victory: He'd always been out of Fumio's weight class, both literally and metaphorically, when it came to matters of wrestling and grappling at the academy. Still, given that she had initiated this little brawl, he felt entitled to a little satisfaction for turning the tables on her.

"Can't…breathe…" Fumio choked out, at which Chijiro shimmied his center of gravity off her chest. She gasped for air as his knees were removed from her chest. "You know," she coughed, still regaining her breath, "might've been easier to have just gotten off of me."

"Hey, _you _wanted to make this about apologies," he said, grin growing even larger, as he leaned towards her. "I'm not leaving until I get what I came for."

"Is _that _what they're calling it these days? When I was your age, we didn't bother with the euphemisms, you know. Just went straight to Tab A into Slot B. Was much more efficient and much less confusing that way," a wry voice sounded from above and behind Chijiro and Fumio. The final stage of Chijiro and Fumio's wrestling match had attracted a spectator. The sound of the voice caused Chijiro to release Fumio and bolt to his feet. Fumio continued to lay where she had been, staring at Chijiro's embarrassment and laughing hysterically as he turned a deep shade of red.

"No need to stop on my account, kids," the possessor of the voice, a balding, elderly gentleman, said with a gentle chuckle, "though doing _that _in the middle of a park? For shame." The old man stroked his fingers together as he tut-tutted Fumo and Chijiro.

"It really isn't like that, sir. Really," Chijiro guffawed and him-hawed, much to the enjoyment of the still prone Fumio, who by this point had resorted to quite literally rolling on the ground laughing.

"Really?" The old man stroked his chin. "Well, if you're not doing anything…inappropriate," he nodded with satisfaction at his choice of words, "then what in the name of the Hokages were you doing down there?"

"It's…complicated," Chijiro smiled weakly in the hopes of signally his discomfort with the direction the conversation was taking. By the way the old man beamed, Chijiro got the sinking feeling things were going to get worse before they got better in this conversation.

"Life is little more than one complication complicating another complicating another _ad infinitum_, my boy, and if you're shying away from the complicated, why, you're shying away from life itself!" the old man roared jovially. "Besides, my dear lad, I like the occasional complication every now and then. They taste suspiciously like chicken."

"Fine," Chijiro sighed a weary and beleaguered sign, "I was tackled by this…this…_Uchiha_!" he said exasperatedly, gesturing to Fumio, who returned the favor by sending him a long, drawn-out raspberry. "I was just minding my own business, waiting for my new _sensai_ and team to show up, when—"

"WAIT!" Fumio exclaimed, hurriedly clamoring to her feet. "You're here for that too?"

"Yes," Chijiro replied hesitantly, "but…here…that…too…" he trailed off, as grim realization set in. That made his gut roil with newfound fury. "Oh. Oh dear," he murmured softly, shock about his predicament setting in. He came to the realization that once, in another lifetime, he had been a tyrant whose acts of villainy and debauchery were unmatched and unparalleled within the annals of history. As that was the _only _way he could think of that karma would reward him with a punishment quite like being on the same squad as Fumio Uchiha.

"We're gonna be _squadies_!" she squealed with excitement, throwing an arm around Chijiro and putting him in a headlock. She ratcheted his neck downward, angling his head towards the ground, into a position where she could administer a playful and enthused noogie. Chijiro's discontent and discomfort were palpable as he squirmed as she ran her knuckles across his scalp. He continued to attempt to extricate himself from her grasp, though his efforts were largely to no avail.

"Yeah, yeah," Chijiro sighed, rolling his eyes as he finally pried his way free of her headlock. "But did you _really _have to rub it in so hard?" He said, wincing slightly as he tenderly prodded the part of his scalp that had born the brunt of her knuckles.

"I do so love wordplay that works on multiple levels," she beamed savagely, "though I'd say you more than earned it. Though honestly Chiji, given how you've been acting, I'd think you were _unhappy_ that we were on the same team."

"I'm positively _morose _about the situation, Fumio," Chijiro said with another roll of his eyes, "I daresay I've never been more _morose_ about anything in my entire life." He smiled inwardly as Fumio nodded slowly. When they had been at the academy, they'd both found dictionaries exceptionally useful tools in perpetuating their endless rhetorical bouts, as there seemed to be a never-ending supply of new verbs, adjectives, and nouns to be found and used against each other. He'd found he his memory retained all manner of things better than Fumio had and he felt vindication at the fact that the _status quo _had remained intact even after a year apart.

"But why would you be sad about working with such a feisty young lady?" The old man inquired innocuously. _Benedict Arnold Geezer! _Fumio's gaze narrowed and turned towards Chijiro. He gulped as terror welled up inside of him. Fumio when she was exuberant was bad enough. When she was angry, she was even worse. And, at the moment, she was on the warpath. If he survived this, Chijiro told himself, he'd make sure that the old man paid for what he had unleashed upon him.

"Not looking forward to working together, Chiji?" Fumio pouted as she cracked her knuckles, voice growing deeper in tone and tenor as she continued. "Well, that's just too bad, Katsuhito. Maybe you'll be a bit more jolly after you've had your ass kicked and the shit beaten out of you."

She threw the first punch, taking Chijiro by surprise, driving her fist into his gut with more force than he thought her capable of mustering. That made him wish he'd managed to find room for his chest plate in his rucksack: He suspected it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much as it did if he'd had some kind of padding to blunt the blow. He staggered back a half step, world spinning and pain surging from his gut, as Fumio's next blow, a high kick, was already bearing down on his head. There was no time to block, let alone counter: His only recourse was to lean in the direction of her momentum and hope he managed to dodge.

Pulling and ducking to his right, he got his head clear just in time to see a sandaled foot whiz through where his jaw had been a fraction of a second earlier. He used the opportunity presented by the follow through of Fumio's kick in order to jump clear of her and regain his composure. This gave his vision a chance to begin to clear and him a chance to get a handle on the situation. Fumio was serious about this: His gut still burned and ached from her initial punch and that kick could well have dislocated his jaw had he not gotten out of the way. That made him angry. If she had taken the kid gloves off, why shouldn't he, as well? Dropping his rucksack, he readied himself for her.

She came at him again. This time, her eyes flashed black on magenta: The Sharingan, he recalled. Deep in his mind, the rational part of his being screamed that he should be intimated by Fumio's manifestation of the Uchiha's bloodline limit. She had added that trick to her repertoire since they'd left the academy and it was a little unnerving, though more because of the unnatural colorization and shape of the pupil than what Fumio may well be able to do with it. Even then, however, he would not let himself be drawn into the trap of intimidation: Fumio was still just Fumio, even if she had added the ability to palette swap her eyes.

She swung high with her right fist, which Chijiro deftly blocked with his left arm. Surprise flashed in Fumio's eyes as her fist impacted the tough leather of Chijiro's armguard: She hadn't expected him to block her punch with the relative ease with which he had. Fumio transitioned her stance forward, hoping to hook her surging left leg between Chijiro's, to setup for a trip attempt: Chijiro, however, knew the technique she was using well, as it was a staple technique of his. Seeing where Fumio was headed, he grabbed Fumio's still blocked right fist, and pulled her towards him, thrusting his knee into her abdomen as he did so.

Fumio's eyes went wide as she impacted against his knee. She gasped for air, as the force of the impact winded her. _That plays to my advantage_, Chijiro thought as he brought his right hand back for a backhanded clearing shot. Fumio, however, still had not lost her advantageous footing. Realizing this, she drew her free hand into a fist and aimed for another strike at Chijiro's belly. Once more she drove a fist into his stomach and once more he winced in pain. This time, however, he didn't stumble or stagger backwards. Standing firm, he delivered his backhand, slapping Fumio with the back of his thickly gloved hand. As her head bobbed to the right from the force of the impact, Chijiro took the opportunity to seize Fumio's other wrist, to setup for a trip-and-pin to end the fight.

As Fumio's mind recoiled from the blow her head had just suffered, she knew the time to counterattack had come. She rocked backward, pulling Chijiro towards her, and head butted him as they closed together. She then rocked forward and swung her left leg out, shaking the dazed Chijiro off of her and sending him tumbling earthwards, where he landed face-first with a dull thud. Seizing the opportunity generated by her tripping of Chijiro, she dove onto him, driving her knee into his back and ratcheting his right arm behind him, into a locked position.

"That enough for you, Katsuhito? Gonna be a bit more jolly from now on?" Fumio inquired rhetorically, ratcheting his right arm a little more, though Chijiro could barely hear, let alone understand, her. His world had degenerated into little more than a kaleidoscope of pain and other bodily discomforts. His gut and back throbbed, his ears were both ringing and burning, his heart was thudding out of control, and the taste of blood and grass in his mouth made him want to vomit. Reminding himself he had to keep his wits about him, Chijiro managed to stow the daze and mental fog he felt welling up in the back of his mind. Fumio was proud, if nothing else, and in this fight he'd given at least as good as he'd got. She wouldn't be done with him until she'd played with him for a little while and rubbed his face in his own defeat. That meant her guard was probably down and, so long as he could keep her gloating, he still had a chance to find a way of turning the tables.

"Kind of hard to be jolly when you've just discovered what a mulch sandwich tastes like," he groaned meekly. _Just play along for now,_ he told himself, _at least until you figure out some way out of this._ He could feel her resting herself on his back and arm. That was a fairly effective means of sustaining the pin for someone of Fumio's size, as it provided her with a means of preventing him from rebounding to his feet vertically while also providing support to maintain the immobilization of his dominant arm. But the problem with the pin Fumio held him in was Fumio's positioning of herself: She was quite literally balancing herself on his back and arm.

That gave him an idea. Fumio had made the same mistake he had when he had pinned her earlier, in that she was immobilizing him by balancing herself atop him. This had been one of the gravest of sins imaginable in their _taijutsu _grappling class back at the academy, one that Chijiro was increasingly sure Fumio had slept through. This was frowned upon because, if someone could generate enough lateral motion, such as by rolling, it was wholly possible to throw the maintainer of the pin and break the hold. The only reason he'd managed to hold her in place earlier was that his relatively large weight was pinning a relatively small entity.

"Come on Chiji-_chan_, play along. I did beat'cha fair and square," Fumio taunted sweetly into his ear. _Did_, he thought, was the operative word, bristling over her choice of honorific. The pain and world spinning were beginning to abate, with his right arm remaining an unwavering voice of discontent due to its contorting and bearing Fumio's weight. Judging by the bend of his right arm, he guessed Fumio's center of gravity was on his right. _Which means one good push from the left and she _should _go tumbling_. He had two means of generating the push he required: His left arm and left leg. His arm had, thankfully, been trapped beneath him: Using his own body as cover, slowly opened his left hand and placed his palm on the ground, ready to push. With his leg out of her line-of-sight, it too was covertly readied for when the time came to break her hold on him. Now, all he required was the proper moment.

"Chiji-_chan_, why do you do this to yourself?" Fumio asked innocuously, half to the wind and half to Chijiro, as she began to play with his hair. "Just admit you lost and that you're happy to work with me and I'll let you go…oh! And I want my apology from earlier, too!" She said, giving his hair a solid yank for emphasis.

Chijiro winced as she tugged at his hair and fought with all of his might not to give her the satisfaction she'd get from a yelp of pain. Even though it was painful at times and more than a little embarrassing, her mussing with his hair was a good thing. She was bored and looking for a distraction. As he felt her fingers in his hair, Chijiro became fairly certain she was becoming engrossed and his scalp was providing a suitable distraction for her. That meant her guard was lowered further still. He felt the pressure on his arm relent slightly: She was engrossed enough that her concentration was beginning to fade. That meant the time had come.

As he pushed with his left arm and leg, Chijiro heard something he'd never heard from Fumio before: A shriek of the decidedly feminine sort. That took him by surprise, as he'd have bet good money that the Hokage would've screamed like a girl before Fumio did. She had always been the sort whom one immediately recognized as a girl, as her features were too feminine to be otherwise, but one could never _quite _picture actually sounding or behaving like one.

That she shrieked was good news to him. He had taken her by surprise and, between that and his rolling motion, she had lost her balance and had been thrown off of him. As he righted himself and got his bearings, he saw Fumio prone, dazed, and confused to his left. There was opportunity to be had here, hopefully enough to end the fight. Chijiro scrambled to his feet and pounced upon Fumio, landing on her abdomen and pinning her upper body beneath his left forearm.

"Wakey, wakey," he said, gently slapping her cheek with his free hand, "well, Little Miss Sunshine, if we're going to be working together, we'd best be setting some new ground rules." She coughed meekly and nodded in agreement. He sympathized with her: A few moments earlier, after all, he had been in her place. And he had not been as gentle as he could, or would have liked, to have been as he straddled and held her down.

"Rule Number One," he enumerated, fishing a kunai out of his holster and pressing it flush against Fumio's neck, "is that if you _ever _call me 'Chiji-_chan_' again, the kunai doesn't stop till it's severed your windpipe. Am I _perfectly _clear?" Her eyes went wide as his kunai rested against her neck and she nodded as hastily as she could without inadvertently slitting her own throat. He nodded inwardly: The kunai was probably overkill, but sometimes extreme measures were required to make Fumio understand. "Rule Number Two? If you _ever _sucker punch me again, refer to Rule One for the outcome. Rule Number Three? If you _ever _play with my hair again without my permission, refer to Rule One once more for the consequences. Are we perfectly clear on _those_?" Fumio continued nodding hastily. "Good. I'll also just assume that, in the future, you'll also be a bit more circumspect and even-keeled, lest we have to have a repeat of this unpleasantness."

With that, Chijiro released Fumio and clamored to his feet. Having achieved something that approximated victory, he holstered his drawn kunai and brushed himself off, before extending a helping hand to Fumio.

"Geez, Chiji, since when did you become a such a hard ass?" Fumio coughed as she took his hand and pulled herself to her feet.

"Since I started taking my mother's fashion advice," he groaned, rubbing his aching stomach. "That _hurt_, you know."

"And being backhanded and impaled on your knee _didn't_?" she counter-groused, cracking her jaw for added emphasis. "Though I daresay you've improved since we parted ways. Was a time that kick would've cleaned your clock."

"There was a time I would've seen that head butt coming, too," he chuckled ruefully. "Maybe it's not so much that I've gotten better that we've both gotten worse."

"Now that's rather pessimistic, don't you think?" The old man, who had been silent for the duration of Chijiro and Fumio's spat, spoke up. "Once there was a time when feuding genins wouldn't give a senile old man a floorshow. But, what with everything changing of late, I suppose I must thank you for the entertainment."

"Pessimism pays," Chijiro shrugged as nonchalantly and nonplussed as he could. The truth was that this was an awkward situation for him. Part of him, that which acknowledged etiquette and propriety and the rules of civil society, had been having a conniption fit since Fumio had thrown the first punch. You simply _didn't_ brawl in public places like the Founders' Park and there was little question that what he and Fumio had engaged in was a brawl. But, on the flip side, if he had let Fumio pound on him without fighting back, it would have only emboldened her and guaranteed she'd have been even worse the _next _time she got violent around him.

It also concerned him that the old man was still around. Chijiro figured that, at the sight of two teens fighting, there were really only two logical courses of action: Either quietly leave and let them continue to make nuisances of themselves or attempt to intervene. That he was still here, and that he had been observing them no less, was suspicious. As was the fact that he had said _precisely _what was required to set Fumio off in the first place. Something didn't quite add up here. And that worried Chijiro to no end.

"Well, I suppose it does," the old man nodded hesitantly, "but aren't you more than a little too young to be so cynical?"

"After dealing with _her _for five years," he countered, gesturing to Fumio, who beamed widely and defiantly as he did so, "I think I'm entitled to expecting the worst from humanity in particular and the universe in general."

"And speaking of the worst," Fumio interjected, cupping her chin in her hand in thought, "just where _is _Eijirou-_sensai_? He's late."

"Eijirou…_sensai_?" Chijiro echoed, not entirely sure of what to make of what Fumio had said. "You know who our new jounin is?" It worried him even more that she may well know who their new team leader was and he didn't. It meant he was either out of the loop or that Fumio was up to something.

"Yeah," Fumio replied nonchalantly, "don't you?" Chijiro bit his tongue. She was being rhetorical. Her arched eyebrow and folded arms told him as much. Which meant that it was almost invariably the latter. Which caused more worry to well up inside of him, as when Fumio was up to something, trouble followed as regularly as night follows day.

"Errm, _no_, I don't," he sighed, hating to admit she knew something he didn't. "I was just delivered a summons to get here bright and early this morning. Nothing about whom the team leader would be," he turned an accusatory glare towards Fumio, "or _who'd _be on the team, for that matter."

"Well, fine!" she huffed, cracked under Chijiro's glare. "Maybe I didn't find out through…the most conventional of channels," she suppressed at giggle at her own euphemism, "but you'd be amazed what you can find in your uncle's office when he's…distracted."

_Uh-oh_, he groaned deep inside of himself. "When he's the head of the Military Police and you've arranged for said distraction, eh Fumio?" Chijiro rolled his eyes once again. The worry that had been building up within well justified, as Fumio's 'distractions' tended to rival small-scale terrorist attacks in their complication and potential for mayhem. "Just how much property damage did you do this time?"

"I resent that!" she huffed in protest once more. "How _dare _you insinuate that I'd do something as distasteful as devise and execute a cunning ploy to lure my uncle out of the office so I could rummage through the MP's classified documents. I'm _ashamed_ that you think so little of me, Chiji," she chided him, voice laden with self-righteousness. That made Chjiro want to laugh, as he'd heard one variant or another on this speech at least a half-dozen times. If _anyone _had the right to impugn her integrity, it was him, as she found a way to drag him into nearly every one of her cockamamie schemes.

"Fumio, you've already been _caught_ doing it once," he sighed, the sound of then Chief Satoshi Uchiha's angry shrieks still nostalgically ringing in his ears. "And I seem to recall that you're _still _grounded for that particular offense," Chijiro shook his head at the connivance that Fumio had wrought. "So, yes, I wouldn't put it past you to try it again. Hell, I can think of at least two _other _instances where I'm positive you did the same damn thing and just were lucky enough not to be caught."

"I'm hurt, Chiji, really and truly hurt," she frowned as she pouted. That made him want to chuckle bitterly, as they both knew she was hamming it up for no other reason than her own enjoyment. "If we're going to have a healthy working relationship, musn't we trust each other?"

"I do trust you, Fumio. I trust that you'll be sneaky and deceitful and conniving when it comes to satisfying your innate desire to know things for knowing's own sake," Chijiro retorted matter-of-factly.

"Truth!" Fumio exclaimed, laughing boisterously. "So, fine, _maybe_, just _maybe_,I _might _have bent a rule here or there. But only _just _a bit." That made Chijiro do a gut-check. If she was admitting to minor transgressions at this point, that meant what she was _really _up to may well have a lynch mob forming sometime soon. "At the very worst the smell will dissipate from the Merchants' Quarter in a week. Tops."

"…_smell_?" both Chijiro and the old man echoed in unison. That was that, then, for Chijiro. Whatever she was planning definitely was on the small-scale terrorist attack side of the spectrum. All that remained to be seen was just how nasty she had gotten and how much trouble he'd get in because of his newfound official association with her.

"Proving that discretion may well _not _be the better part of valor, I'm going to go out on a limb and ask the obvious," Chijiro sighed, giving into the inevitable, hesitancy and trace amounts of fear building up in his voice as he continued, "just what have you done _this _time, Fumio?"

"Well, were I a knavish rapscallion, which I most assuredly am not, and I wanted to cause a distraction to clear out the Military Police's headquarters, I would check the village's municipal garbage collection schedule and construct an intricate and elaborate plan involving detonating several dozen explosive tags attached to the garbage carts simultaneously, flipping over refuse-laden carts all over the Merchants' Quarter so as to achieve maximum public disorder so as to distract the Military Police for as long as possible and provide for maximum perusing time," she grinned mischievously, reveling in revealing her devious plot. It was, Chijiro begrudgingly admitted, audacious if nothing else. It also meant that his lynch mob thesis might not be all that far off, either.

"Destruction of village property, destruction of private property, instigation of public disorder, unauthorized viewing of classified documents, conspiracy to commit all of the above…" the old man counted off, whistling softly as he finished. "I'll give you kids this much, if nothing else, you're ambitious. The most daring we got when I was your age was spying on the girl's bathhouse."

"Whoa, whoa, old man," Chijiro shook his hands and head, hoping to distance himself from the conversation and the fact that Fumio had managed to drag him kicking and screaming into another one of her hare-brained plots, "this is _all _her doing. I had _nothing _to do with this."

"But I did this for you!" Fumio stopped her foot in protest. "I did this for you and team! I did this so we'd know who we're dealing with! I…I…I just incriminated myself, didn't I?"

"S-E-L-F-C-O-N-T-R-O-L, Fumio. Lemme know if you _ever _know what that spells," Chijiro sighed, shaking his head with frustration and massaging his temples. Though he did take some solace at the look on her face as it sank in what she had said. "Well, Gramps, this makes me an accessory to at least eight crimes, some of which are punishable by hard labor or time with the ANBUs. What's it be gonna be for you?" He was being rhetorical. He knew the old man would rat them out to the proper authorities and he'd get to look forward to turning big rocks into little ones. Or, worse still, finding out just _what _"Special Interrogation and Tactics" really meant.

"Oh, you kids have made me laugh more than once this morning, and I've certainly been an accessory to much worse in my time," the old man grinned and chuckled. That sounded the warning klaxons in Chijiro's mind and raised even more red flags. It was bad enough that the old man wasn't going to run to the authorities: Chijiro wasn't entirely sure he wasn't serious about that "being an accessory to much worse" bit. "But if I'm going to keep this secret, I'm also party to this information you've dug up on your new team leader. Who knows, I might even know him. I've known more than a few of Konoha's ninjas in my day."

"Deal!" Fumio beamed, an aura of accomplishment radiating outward from her. Chijiro stifled a gag. Though she might have just gotten away with turning the Merchants' Quarter into a zoo, he couldn't help but vaguely feel that this would not end well for her _or _him and that _she _would be responsible for that. "Our team leader is Eijirou Kasabayashi, who's apparently some war-hero big-shot who's been stationed in Hikyou for the last few years heading up Konoha's operations there."

"_The _Eijirou Kasabayashi?" the old man whistled softly once more. "He's a damn fine man. Served with him in the Seventh Battalion during Operation Thunderclap."

"The Seventh Battalion? Operation Thunderclap?" Chijiro gaped in astonishment, much to his own consternation. The Seventh Battalion was something of a living legend to the youth of Konoha. Eighteen years ago, the Country of Fire had marched an army into the Country of Lightning, under the rubric of Operation Thunderclap: The invasion quickly degenerated into a rout, as the army's vanguard was encircled and cut off. All seemed lost, but for 99 days the vanguard, led by the Seventh Battalion of Konoha, fought its way home, fighting a three-month running battle while vastly outnumbered and outgunned, as it hacked its way southward to freedom. "He served in the Seventh Battalion?" Chijiro inquired as skeptically as he could, trying to keep his wits about him. "And, for that matter, _you _served in the Seventh Battalion?"

"Boy, don't they teach you history anymore at the academy?" the old man fumed. "Eijirou Kasabayashi _led _the Seventh Battalion!"

"Our jounin led the Seventh Battalion? _Our jounin led_ _the Seventh Battalion!_"Chijiro repeated excitedly. The rational part of his mind, so much maligned this morning, screamed its discontent at the situation. This was all too coincidental, too convenient. But it was drowned out by giddiness to study under one of the greatest leaders of war time Konoha. "Did you hear that Fumio? We're going to be taught by a _living legend_! Imagine the things he's seen! The tales he's got! The things we can learn!"

"Whoa there, Spunky, might want to turn down the hero worship _just _a smidge," Fumio smirked as he chided Chijiro, "as once I had a name, I did a little more digging on just _who _our new living legend jounin is. Apparently, in addition to being a war hero, he's the Third's crony-in-chief, a renowned Hyuugaphile, _and _the only member of the council of elders ever to be officially ejected from its ranks because he _mooned _Councilor Danzo in chambers. His stationing in Hikyou was apparently some kind of diplomatic exile."

The old man stifled a smirk as Fumio mentioned mooning Danzo. Chijiro probably would have missed it, had he not spent so long watching Fumio do the same thing in the presence of Henzami-_sensai_. The pieces fell into place. An old man _just_ happens to show up _just _about the time his new team leader is supposed to; Says _just _the right thing to goad Fumio into wailing on him; _And _the same old man _just _happens to become complicit in a plot that would send any upstanding citizen running to the proper authorities; _And _he just happens to have served in one of the most famous foreign campaigns of the War, in the unit that _just_ so happens to have been commanded by the team's new jounin. And now he was forcibly repressing mischeavous smirks about what was probably one of the most disgraceful episodes in Konoha's recent political history. It all added up to one thing, and on thing alone.

This old coot _was _Eijirou Kasabayashi.

"And that's just his _political_ baggage," Fumio laughed, "and he's got more than enough personal problems to go with his troubles with the Big Guys in the Hokage's Tower. I hear he's got the hardest ass this side of the Country of Stone and a stick lodged so far up it it's a wonder he can breathe at all. I also hear he's a world class ass-rider and that he moonlights as one of the Taskmasters of the Nine Hells."

Chijiro grimaced inwardly. Fumio hadn't put the pieces together yet. "_Ockknay itway offway! _E'shay_ Eijirouway!_" he hissed frantically at Fumio in what Pig Latin he could muster, making a slashing movement across his neck with his pointer finger for her to cease and desist. Unfortunately for Chijiro, knowledge of Pig Latin, even pigeon Pig Latin, was not one of the skills in Fumio's inventory, much to his own disappointment. Every word out of her mouth dug a deep pit that they'd _both _end up residing in soon enough.

"I'm glad the lights are on upstairs, Mr. Katsuhito." Even more unfortunately for Chijiro, Pig Latin, both proper and pigeon, _was _one of Eijirou's skills. "A clever attempt to warn your colleague, I must admit. Probably would've worked, too, had my classmates and I not taken it up as a way of getting around old man Henzami's seemingly omnipresent ears. Though I must wonder, what gave my ruse away?"

"Ruse? What…ruse…" Fumio trailed off as fumbled with Chijiro's attempt to warn her, before realization dawned upon her as well. "That means you're—"

"The hardest ass this side of the Country of Stone, the possessor of a stick so far up my posterior I can hardly breathe, a world champion ass-rider, _and _part-time Taskmaster of the First, Third, and Seventh Hells."

"Why yes, Miss Uchiha, I _am _Eijirou Kasabayashi."

**Author's Notes: **I had originally intended this to come in at somewhere around 2,000 words. I've only overshot it by about 400, which is a damn sight better than Choices, which was intended to be roughly the same length and ended up ballooning to 15,000 words. This, I think, sets a rather firm foundation for that which is to come, as well as introduce two of the three genins who really are the stars of this little enterprise, Eijirou's massive presence in the preceding chapter not withstanding. Fumio was exceptionally fun to write, as she's all over the map and whose particular outlook on life provides a wonderful foil for Chijiro. And an even better foil for Hanaryuu, though _that _will have to wait until next chapter.


End file.
